Help Elsewhere
by Proverbial Pumpkin
Summary: COMPLETE. Tohma copes with life alone with his music. But when the ability to play is taken away from the keyboardist, someone is there with him.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Now, on to the fic!

Seguchi Tohma didn't get sick. That just wasn't in the nature of the universe, which of course Tohma himself owned. We'd all seen him tired, moody, callous, and irritable, but physically fit through it all. It was like he had a force field of sterile air around him, and even when the rest of us were hacking up vital organs and frightening small children with our zombie-like appearances, he carried on as if he thrived on the malevolent germs we breathed into his office every day.

The man was a machine. A very feminine but perfectly healthy machine. So when I walked into his office one morning in March, I expected to see him at his desk, relentlessly fulfilling his presidential duties as always.

"Seguchi-san, I'd like to discuss your programming assignment for-"

I looked up to see his empty chair. No Tohma. From the doorway I could see several open files and a coffee mug on his desk, so I knew he was at least lurking about the studio somewhere, and probably nearby. I turned and headed back the way I came, and it wasn't until then that I saw him. Or at least the top of his head.

He'd laid himself on his side on that giant sofa of his, and was by all appearances asleep. Unusual. I shut the door and walked around the couch, squatting down in front of him. He was fully clothed except for that damn hat, and was almost curled up into himself, with one hand beneath his chin and the other resting lightly on the sofa. It looked highly unnatural, Tohma scrunched up on his couch in a jacket and dress slacks. I suppose if pressed, I would have envisioned Tohma sleeping on his back, with his arms crossed over his chest. In a coffin perhaps.

From the corner of my eyes I noticed a small flashing light. Several. It was Tohma's phone on his desk, with three or four missed calls from the looks of things. How long had he been there? I'd suspected before that he slept in his office, but I'd certainly never seen him asleep at the studio. And definitely not during working hours.

Needless to say a dozen rather inconsiderate pranks flew into my mind, but I'd come here on behalf of Bad Luck. "Seguchi-san?... Seguchi-san?" _Please wake up without me having to touch you,_ I thought. Tohma was not a man to be touched. "Seguchi-san," I said, more urgently. He didn't move, except for the irregular rise and fall of his shoulder as he breathed.

Wait…..irregular?

It was. His breathing was jagged. How had I not noticed that before? His breaths came out labored, even as he slept. So I finally shook his shoulder, just a little bit. "Seguchi-san, you've got to get up. It's almost twelve o'clock."

"What?" His eyes fluttered open, still cloudy from sleep. His voice had come out raspy and hoarse, but it was a response.

"He lives!" I smiled at him, watching as he pulled himself upright with a soft moan, rubbing at his eyes. "Seguchi-san, I was thinking we could discuss your- Seguchi-san?"

Sometimes I think I'd prefer fist to face contact over conversation with Tohma. The little platinum bastard wasn't even listening. Instead, he was bent over with his elbows on his knees and his palm against his forehead, shaking.

Oh.

"S-Seguchi-san? What's the matter with you?"

I'd meant it as a legitimate question, but it came out sounding rather unfeeling. So I guess I deserved the glare I got. "I'm fine, K-san. Why are you here?" he demanded, sounding angry. Oh yes, the authoritative voice. He was attempting to maintain an intimidating demeanor. But the shakiness in his voice undermined him and besides, I'd just seen him sprawled out asleep on his couch. He'd have to work harder than that to regain his dignity on this meeting.

"It looks like I should be asking you the same thing. You look terrible." He really did, too. His eyes looked strained and dull, and his face was pale. Tohma was an attractive and occasionally fashionable man, but not even he could pull off the dead-man-walking look with much flair.

He didn't answer me. He simply kept his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. Still shivering.

Seguchi Tohma the Infallible was sick, and I was here to witness him in his rare –perhaps only- vulnerability. I would have gloated upon the realization…had I not, despite myself and my best efforts, felt just a little bit sorry for him.

"Why don't you go home?"

He shook his head and gave me a You'd-like-that-wouldn't-you look. "I can't. I've got too much work to do. It's probably good that you came in, K-san. I've got to get up."

I watched him try. He carefully pushed himself up from the couch and then promptly swayed on the spot, holding his hands out slightly in an attempt to maintain his balance. Then, with a weak sound of surprise, he fell back down onto the sofa.

The fact that it was Tohma made it all the more pitiful and fascinating to watch. He looked down at himself, and then up to me with a helpless and startled expression that I very nearly laughed at. "Are you gonna try that again, or would you like some help?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

He started to scowl at me, I think, but ended up letting himself fall back on his side and closing his eyes again. I looked at him bemusedly. "Seguchi Tohma, you are a sick man." I'd wanted to saw that for a long time, of course. He murmured something unintelligible back at me, already falling asleep.

I started shoving at his shoulder, trying to jostle him back into consciousness. "You should go home."

"I can't go home feeling like this," he slurred.

I shrugged. "Generally people don't try to work when they can't even sit up to do it, but whatever you say." None of my nevermind, after all.

He cracked his eyes open. I could tell he was trying to focus on mine. "I can't _drive_."

"….Oh." Right. Of course. I supposed this is where a considerate person would offer to drive him home. But I've never been accused of being particularly considerate and besides, I didn't want to.

"You can go now, K-san."

"Oh, right. I'll just…okay." For the record, I did feel guilty about leaving him there like that. I even hesitated on my way out, and saw to it that the door shut quietly behind me.

* * *

"Sick? Seguchi-san got sick?" Hiro looked moderately interested. 

I nodded. "Yep."

"That's… unusual."

"I was surprised too. He doesn't generally-"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Shuichi, tell me what you think of this for the intro to our new song."

And he broke into a riff as if I hadn't said anything more at all.

I don't know why it irritated me. Members of the Bad Luck family ignore each other all the time, and Hiro wasn't widely reputed for his boundless compassion when it came to anyone other than Shuichi and that chick with the god-awful headband. I turned to our vocalist instead. "He looked bad, though. Like he'd been hit over the head and then held underwater for a few hours."

Shuichi looked thoughtful. "That's terrible."

"I know. I might call Mika and ask her to-"

"You can't just switch keys in the middle of the beginning. It sounds like you changed your mind about something."

"Lots of famous composers do it!" Hiro answered indignantly.

"Only the dead ones, and their music didn't have to sound good, as long as it was hard to play. And you're not a famous composer anyway. Experiment on your own songs, damn it."

Cold-blooded cretins. I watched them bicker for a while, then flipped out my phone. Razor thin, you know, and ideal for being broken or lost.

"Hello Mika, this is K-san. Sorry to bother you, but Seguchi-san is unconscious and seems to be …rapidly expiring. Maybe you should come get him."

"Come…what?" She sounded less than pleased to hear from me. Shuichi and Hiro were still bickering next to me, and I covered my other ear with my palm.

"Your husband. He's sick and can't drive. Come get him."

"Oh. Oh, um….. that's awful… but I really- I really can't right now." Then she hee-hawed some excuse at me, that she was stranded without a taxi somewhere. She was flustered about something. I'd called Tohma's home number.

So in other words, she'd already planned out her day, and it didn't include taking care of her husband. And she was confident Tohma could handle himself.

Well, he probably could, but still. Bitch.

Okay, okay. So I went back and checked on him later that afternoon. I didn't have much choice, did I? And anyway, it turned out to be a good thing I'm so charitably-minded. I flatter myself in that I saved the life of at least one man when I showed up at Tohma's office around four. Ryuichi was holding Tohma hostage at his own desk, forcing him to serve as an audience of one to a floppy ritual Kumagarou was performing less than a foot away from Tohma's nose. Tohma had a dizzied, bewildered expression that told me if I hadn't made my grand appearance then, Tohma would have either passed out or snapped and slaughtered Ryuichi with the letter opener on his desk.

As it was I, in my selfless martyrdom, became Kumagarou's new victim within seconds.

"K-san! Kumagarou says hello!" Ryuichi shouted, plopping the ridiculous thing onto my head. It fell sideways off my shoulder and hit the floor.

Unlike Tohma, however, I do not have infinite patience with the hyperactive man-child, and simply picked it up and shoved it back into Ryuichi's loving arms. "Shuichi's looking for you, Sakuma-san," I said, irritated on behalf of Tohma, who for the first time ever actually looked genuinely happy to see me.

Ryuichi couldn't have been more delighted to hear this. Before he could bound through the door, I caught the back of his collar. "I'm not sure where he is, though. If I were you, I'd start on the first floor and check every stairwell of every level until I found him. If he's not there, then call his phone." Ryuichi seemed to consider this, but not for long enough to determine that it made no sense whatsoever. He was gone as soon as I released him, waving Kumagarou over his head like a Golden Ticket as he went.

I turned back to Tohma. He'd put his head down on his desk, his cheek flat against a small stack of papers and his arms bent in front of him. "Thank you," he mumbled appreciatively.

There was a thermometer lying next to his arm. So he'd finally taken some interest in his fever. Not bothering to brush his bangs aside, I bent down and pressed the back of my hand against his forehead. He sat up, blinking at me and waiting for an explanation.

The heat of his skin shocked me. "Seguchi-san, you're burning up!"

"I am not," he grumbled, pushing my hand away and feeling his own forehead.

"Then what's this for?" I said, snatching up the thermometer.

"Ryuichi brought it in here. I don't need it."

I waggled it at him. "Let's just see, then."

"No."

"It won't hurt anything."

"No!"

"Oh, honestly, Tohma. A man of your age."

Tohma pursed his lips together and glared defiantly at me. "My temperature has nothing to do with anything. We don't need a quantitative measurement to determine whether or not I'm sick."

I jabbed the thermometer under the blonde's nose again. "No, but if you're over 100, you should go home."

"Would you please quit speaking to me like a child? This is _my_ office and you work for _me_. Now get that useless instrument away from me and leave." To punctuate his demand, Tohma stood up abruptly and authoritatively for effect, sending his chair rolling back towards the window. Smart move. He suddenly looked light-headed and dizzy, and his eyes briefly lost their focus. "Ohhh," Tohma groaned, leaning over his desk onto his elbows and putting his head in his hands. He groped clumsily behind him and brought his chair forward again, collapsing ungracefully back into it.

I'd seen enough. "Alright," I said, striding around his desk. "Up you get. You're going home _now_."

"I can't," he said, swatting feebly at my arms as I heaved him out of his chair. "Don't touch me."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, I'm driving. Get whatever junk you need if you think you'll be working at home tomorrow."

"No, K," Tohma insisted, pulling out of my grasp and stumbling away from me. "I can't go home."

"Well, why the hell not?" I demanded. "You're not getting anything done here, and I'm sick of watching you be pathetic."

He paused and looked to the side. "Mika's not expecting me."

"Who cares? She's your wife. She can't hold it against you if you come home early."

Tohma didn't answer at first. Then he looked back at me with an expression I hadn't expected. "She might have… other plans this evening."

Ah. It took me a moment, but I got it. He didn't want to risk walking in on anything Mika didn't want him to see. Anything he didn't want to have to deal with. I felt sorry for pressing. He avoided my eyes, and I was glad he did. I'd never considered myself Tohma's number one sympathizer before, but this was a bit pitiful. A disappointing reminder that even people like Seguchi Tohma have personal lives.

More color than I'd seen in Tohma's face all day had rushed to his cheeks- he was embarrassed at having to admit to someone like me just how dysfunctional that personal life really was. I felt kind of awkward myself, and this seemed like a good topic to abandon. "Well, then, I guess that means you're coming home with me," I said cheerfully, surprised that I didn't sound as annoyed as I thought I should.

Even more surprisingly, he didn't look all that annoyed either. He actually looked me in the eyes and gave me a tired but very real smile. "I appreciate that, K-san. But I really do need to stay. I think I just need to get out of this room for a while." He dragged himself up cautiously, and then nodded to himself, before stumbling towards the door like a drunkard.

"Now where are you going?" I asked incredulously.

"If Ryuichi needs me, please have him call me before making him search the stairwells. If anyone else needs me, I'm nowhere. Thank you, K-san."

* * *

Author's Note: I know, I know. There was pretty much no mention of Tohma's instrument in this chapter. But I've already got some of the next chapter written, and I promise the plot moves along. If you liked this or have any thoughts, please comment :-) 


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Author's Note:** Chapter two is dedicated to the saints who reviewed Chapter one for me! Tr00 elite, and I thank you!

Now, on to the fic!

* * *

I knew it wasn't a bronze key. I was certain. But I was running out of silver ones to try, and getting frustrated. This sort of work was generally left for those lower on the totem pole than me, but at the very end of a late recording session Fujisaki had been adamant that Bad Luck's demo include, of all things, a mother-fucking bell tree.

"It's got to be real," he'd said peevishly when I'd suggested he just find a suitable patch on his synthesizer. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand."

"Yes, it's definitely a musician thing," Shuichi had added solemnly, and to avoid listening to ten minutes of how much musical pride they had and how an outsider like myself couldn't understand the concept of authenticity, I promised to have a bell tree by the next day. Since no one kept bell trees on their person, that meant I was left searching through the fourth floor storage rooms, which had all been unused since NG's earliest days. Of course, it was pitch black inside, and I couldn't see a thing through the criss-cross wires in the glass panel of the door. I sighed. If there were any percussion toys inside, I wouldn't know until I got the door open.

Suddenly, I heard a muffled noise. Music.

It was coming from a practice room across the hallway, just as forgotten as the storage. All its outlet circuits were shot, and to my knowledge, no one had used it since before Bad Luck. I pocketed my keys –the damn bell tree could wait- and stepped over to glance inside. There, at an old grand piano that was in much better condition than I recalled, sat Seguchi Tohma in mid-song. He looked small next to it. I opened the door carefully and the stifled notes rang clearly in my ears. I was relieved to find the door didn't creak or slam shut behind me. Tohma was facing the doorway, but he played on. He either didn't notice me, or simply didn't mind having an audience.

I didn't particularly want him to stop anyway. More of a businessman than a music man, I don't often bother to enjoy the music I manage. All of the popular songs are made of mostly flashy tunes with thirty lines of lyrics, occasionally well-written, added in. But this… whatever Tohma was playing, was of a different style altogether. It was calmer, more controlled, with a simple single-note melody and something more discreet lurking below it.

I watched Tohma's eyes as they scanned across the keyboard. They were still tired and sick-looking, but much more alert and attentive now. There was a different intensity in them, a focus that I had never noticed when Tohma was working or playing for Nittle Grasper. It made me wish I could see the keyboardists' fingers as well; my view was cut off from Tohma's chest down by the baby grand. The notes were quickening now, and louder. As the song continued and elevated toward its climax, Tohma's brow furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed tightly together. His face was pale and clammy, from his illness I assumed, but he played with a ferventness that seemed to surpass his physical condition. The same simple melody was still carried in his right hand, only now in full chords and louder volume. He inhaled sharply and began pounding into the same tune he'd started with, only now with a force that must have taken most of Tohma's remaining strength to elicit from the instrument.

The technical composition didn't sound that complicated to me, but somehow I'd never heard anything quite like it. Tohma held his breath as he finished, sitting on the last chord until it died away. Then he lifted the pedal and looked calmly up, acknowledging me for the first time. "Did you need anything, K-san?"

I was still marveling at how someone with such a slight frame could draw such a sound from an acoustic instrument. "Seguchi-san… what was that?"

Tohma closed the lid of the instrument gently. "Just a little piece from a while back." His voice still didn't have its usual healthy tone.

"You wrote that?" I tried to hide my surprise.

"My vocalists aren't the only NG employees with an ounce of musical creativity, K-san," Tohma said, smiling and rummaging through the papers inside his bench.

I watched him. "It's just that I'd never heard it. And I didn't know you wrote."

Tohma sniffled quietly and nodded. "I think many pianists compose in their heads, whether they realize it or not. It's just a matter of putting it on paper." He straightened with a small stack of music in his hands, browsing over the piece on top.

"I'm guessing those are yours, too."

Tohma nodded. "I guess you could call these my secret collected works." He held them out to me. I don't know why he did.

I examined the pages. At least a dozen pieces, some printed and some handwritten on wrinkled manuscript. I looked up at their composer. "So no one's ever seen any of these?"

"When would they?" Tohma asked. "My songs lend themselves best to the acoustic piano."

"I can see that." I cringed, embarrassed that my voice betrayed how impressed I really was.

Tohma smiled at me. "But the piano does _not_ lend itself well to much that Nittle Grasper will ever play. And anyways, I'd never desecrate some of my best work by letting our arrangers get a hold of it."

I glanced at the notes in front of me and then handed the papers back to Tohma. "It just seems strange for someone like you to put in all that work and not be credited for it."

Tohma smiled to himself before answering. "I can see how it might. But then, 'credited' and 'rewarded' aren't synonymous, are they?"

"What?"

"Well… it's not all about producing the records, right?" Tohma laid his hand on the lid of the piano, gazing at it thoughtfully. When he spoke, it was almost to himself. "That's easy to forget when you're promoting, scheduling, selling…. Very easy to forget what the musicians are doing here in the first place, I suppose. However…" Tohma paused. "That is, Nittle Grasper formed because of three people who loved making music, not just selling it, right? It's good to remember that sometimes."

I studied his face. I hadn't seen that expression of artless sincerity often, and certainly never suspected to see it on Seguchi Tohma, of all people.

"But it _is_ a beautiful instrument, don't you think, K-san?" Tohma looked at me expectantly, before turning aside and coughing delicately into his hand.

I could only nod, unsure of anything to say. Tohma looked back to the music in his hands, satisfied. "As much as I love the keyboard and synthesizer, sometimes I prefer this. And when you love an instrument enough, it can get you through just about anything."

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Tohma's regulatory smiled had reappeared and his voice was cheerful and flippant again. "Anyway, I suppose that's why you found me in here today. Now, our bands are probably wondering where we've scurried off to."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Please, please leave a review of sort. I promise I'll never pull that "I'll only update after x reviews" bit, but they ARE encouraging! 

Also, if you've gotten this far you deserve input: Should this fic be slash?? There are so many ways to get Mika out of the picture... if she was ever really in it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Author's Note:** I'm playing around with the point-of-views in this chapter and some of the later ones. This is so we get more than just K's perspective…since K obviously isn't with Tohma every second of his life [yet. And now, Chapter the Next!

* * *

"I understand your…bitterness, sir. But please do not contact me again." 

Tohma rolled his eyes as he listened to the prattling, raving response on the other end of the line. "Yes, sir, I realize that. Perhaps you should have settled when we offered. I did warn you- What? ... Vindication?"

He leaned back in his chair, watching a small bug crawl along the edge of the ceiling tiles. "You should not be overly-dramatic, sir. It may only end up costing you more money….I see…. Ah, well. If you insist, I suppose my lawyers will be up for another laugh at your expense. Good luck, Aizawa-san."

Tohma hung up, his mind turning immediately to other matters. He had bounced back considerably from his atypical illness. One day's leave at home only incited him to quarantine himself back in his office again, with the understanding that all requests for his company had to be submitted in writing and slid beneath the door before he would consider unlocking it. Even then, Ryuichi was the only one allowed to disturb a full minute of his time.

Finally, he opened up his office to the general public again, at last feeling up to handling the daily trifles of the underlings beneath him. He had one specificorder of business in particular to attend to, one that had been flitting about in the back of his mind for some time now. With a full physical recovery and a newly invigorated ambition, he decided there was no time like the present. And presently, his top two bands were both in their prime.

"That's correct, Sakano-san. A joint concert."

The producer's eyes nearly sparkled with adoration, or something equally disconcerting, when Tohma spoke these words. "Mr. President, that's brilliant! Q-Quite an undertaking… but brilliant!"

Tohma gave him a patronizing smile. "Just a business move, Sakano-san," he said, though Tohma was convinced within himself that yes, this was an excellent idea. Strategic, really. Bad Luck was climbing the charts and Nittle Grasper was already on the top, so a show or two combining both would not only be an instant cash-in from sales, but would provide a nice bit of publicity as well. Fitting in a few local sell-outs prior to Nittle Grasper's international tour could only mean good things. "And yes, it will take a bit of preparation. Extra security, advertising… but you leave that to K-san and me. What I want you to concern yourself with is Shindou-kun."

"Shindou-kun?"

Tohma folded his hands across his desk in front of him. "Nittle Grasper is easily the most popular band in Japan at present. This concert will benefit it no matter_ what_ happens. And if Bad Luck performs to the best of its ability, it can almost come within reach of Ryuichi's standards, and begin this year with an excellent start as well. But Shindou-kun is not consistent. If Shindou-kun does not give one of his best performances ever, Bad Luck will be nothing but an opening act. This late after Bad Luck's debut…. To perform with Nittle Grasper and be considered only mediocre in comparison would hinder Bad Luck's success in the future."

Sakano clenched his hands. "Shindou-kun will perform well."

"He'd better. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this concert is as much a risk for Bad Luck as it is a shoe-in for Nittle Grasper." Suddenly, Tohma's phone rang, interrupting him. He placed a hand over it. "Thank you for coming in, Sakano-san. You can go now." He gave him another smile, and Sakano bowed and let himself out as Tohma answered the call.

* * *

**K**

"You're kidding!"

Sakano shook his head, adjusting his glasses. "Seguchi-san just told me."

I had to smile. "Seguchi-san certainly likes to keep us on our toes, doesn't he?"

Sakano nodded. "He's on the phone right now, but I'm sure Seguchi-san will want to discuss this with you in more detail at some point today. My project is Shindou-kun."

"At some point? I'm going in there _now_. I want to know how the hell he tells you about all this before seeing me."

Ignoring Sakano's weak protests, I barreled into Tohma's office and let the door fall behind me. Tohma was seated at his desk, listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the line. I plopped down on the same sofa I had found Tohma lying on not two weeks before, wondering how long this was going to take.

Not long. Tohma's side of the conversation was terse, to say the least, but brief. "Ah….I understand. I can be there soon…. Well, I'd really rather we- Yes… Alright. Yes, I understand you perfectly. Good-bye." I heard the receiver click into the holder and got up. Smiling, I strode over to Tohma and put both palms flat on the president's desk. "Now, what's this I hear about a joint concert, and why did I hear it from Sakano of all people?"

Tohma didn't answer. He was staring worriedly at the phone, deep in thought and paying me no attention. "….Seguchi-san?"

Tohma started. His eyes widened as he noticed me for the first time, three feet away from him. "K-san!" Tohma passed a hand over his eyes and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry… what do you need?"

I had never seen worry and shock so clearly defined on Tohma's face. It was alarming, and I was taken aback. For a moment I forgot the concert. "Are you… are you alright, Seguchi-san?"

Tohma's eyes flickered back to the phone for an instant, and then away again. He drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes. I watched him intently. But when the blonde looked up at me again, his usual complacent expression had regained control of his features. "Yes, K-san," he said evenly. "What can I do for you?"

* * *

I put it out of my mind. The phone call was, after all, the president's own business and I had never been one to pry. And whatever had thrown Tohma temporarily off-balance didn't seem to be a lasting issue. Every time I saw him in passing that day, Tohma greeting me with his accustomed closed-eye smile as if nothing wrong had happened all day. By the evening, I was even beginning to question that perhaps I'd simply imagined Tohma's distressed reaction earlier. 

I worked late that night. I wasn't exactly pressed for time or over-loaded with things to do, but I wanted to be there. There's something satisfying about being alone in that huge building, and knowing that when people drove by, yours is one of the few offices in the whole studio illuminated through the windows. When I finally did leave, there were only a handful of vehicles left in the lot. One was a dark blue Eclipse - Tohma's. _No surprise there,_ I thought as I got into my own more modest car. For an executive, Tohma did a surprising amount of work himself and I supposed that with a Nittle Grasper tour coming up, he must have more than ever to do. But pulling out of the lot, I glanced up to the higher stories. Tohma's window was dark. I paused for a moment, thinking, and then switched into reverse.

It was really only a hunch that led me back inside the studio, walking along the dim hallways of the fourth floor. After all, the fact that Tohma wasn't in his office was no indication that he was in the practice room I had met him in earlier. But after seeing Tohma's reaction to the unspecified phone call earlier, I wanted to know if he was.

The corridor was silent. The low lights were always kept on in the studio, but their feeble illumination of the walls only punctuated the fact that I simply had no business being there at that hour. As I neared my destination, I began to feel slightly ridiculous. It was 11:36 at night, and I was walking along a deserted hallway looking for someone who wasn't there. _This is what I get for concerning myself with other people's business,_ I thought.

I balled my fists and shoved them in his pockets. But my sullen attitude turned to curiosity as soon as I turned the corner and saw the door to the practice room. Still no sounds came from inside, but the light was on. Ah ha. Once again, keen instincts and intuition prevail. I peered through the glass panel just as I had two weeks ago. And there he was.

Again, Tohma was seated at the piano. A pencil was balanced behind his ear, almost hidden underneath the layers of platinum hair. Today, he was staring at several sheets of music on the stand. Staring, but not looking. Tohma was almost gazing straight through it, and I recognized that desolate expression as the one I'd seen just a few hours ago.

I tore my eyes from the window and crossed my arms, leaning my back against the hallway wall. My eyes cut back to the door. Whatever Tohma was going through, it was his own business- that much I knew. And the president had always kept his personal dealings outside of discussion. Besides, I knew that if Tohma ever wanted to share the details of his life, I would be one of the last people he'd share them with.

And yet, for some reason…I found myself caring.

Well, not caring. Wondering, maybe. Wondering what was bothering Tohma so much, wondering why Tohma was here, now. Wondering why I _myself_ was there.

My thoughts were interrupted- finally, I heard music. I stayed where I was, listening intently. It was slow, just like the earlier song had begun. But it sounded lower, and not as, well… sweet. It was simply there. I listened for a couple minutes, thinking it would escalate to a dramatic finish like the one I'd heard earlier. I waited for it.

It never came. The notes changed and Tohma switched octaves, but I couldn't detect the smallest dynamic contrast, the slightest drive or passion. Tohma was not playing- he was only pressing keys, and even I could tell the difference. At one point, Tohma began playing a bar and simply never got off it. It sounded like a transition measure; I suspected it was part of a phrase meant to introduce a more intense portion of the piece. But as I listened, puzzled, the same few chords and run simply came again and again.

I frowned and turned back to his panel. Tohma was still looking at the music, but his eyes were fixed on one point of the page, still with that distant, unseeing stare. I listened to the bar a few more times; each time it was played with an eerie uniformity to the time before, and eventually I decided I'd had enough. In one movement I flung the door open. It hit the adjacent door plug with a satisfying _thud_.

Tohma jumped and let out a small exclamation of surprise. He looked confusedly at the paper in front of him for a moment, as if he hadn't even realized where he'd been playing, and then up at me.

"K-san. I didn't… What time is it?" Tohma began gathering his music together.

I folded my arms. "Almost midnight."

"Oh." Tohma began spreading his music out again. He looked tired, not even attempting to replace the chipper mask I had watched him put on earlier. His eyes held a look that was simply hollow, now. Hollow and resigned.

"Tohma…What was that phone call you got this afternoon?"

Tohma smiled up at me from the bench. "I suppose I should invest in a 'please knock' sign. You weren't supposed to hear any of that."

"I didn't. But I assumed it had to have been something important to throw the great Seguchi Tohma off his stride."

Tohma let out a dry laugh. "You assumed correctly, K-san. As always. But I'm tempted to ask why you're interested."

"I didn't say I was _interested."_

"Just wondering?"

"Right."

Tohma straightened his hat and began playing again from the beginning. "That call was nothing fatal. Just a bit of news I'll have to handle." His notes were still lifeless, and if it hadn't been for those anesthetized notes, I might not have bothered pressing. As it was, I wanted to slam the lid down over Tohma's fingers to make them stop.

"News you'll have to handle, huh? Then I wonder why you're here, and not at home handling it."

He didn't answer.

"What's going on?"

"Sometime next year, Eiri and Shindou-san are leaving to get a civil union."

"What?"

"Yuki Eiri and Shindou-san."

That threw me off, briefly. The news itself wasn't shocking, but I was surprised to hear it from Tohma, then and there. Surprised, however not enough to miss the sharpness Tohma had begun playing with as soon as he spoke. He articulated each note now, as if to drown out the words he'd spoken with the music. "It won't be recognized here in Japan, of course, but I don't think that's the point. Has Shindou-san not mentioned it?" he asked.

I wondered that myself. Again, Bad Luck tended to ignore eachother, especially when it came to ramblings about Yuki Eiri. "He may have. But Seguchi-san…" I chose my words carefully. "Does that really matter?" Wrong words. "I mean, does it change anything?"

Tohma hummed the note he was on as he stopped playing to turn the page. Then he kept going. "It doesn't. It solidifies the status quo, really."

"So…you haven't really lost anything."

Tohma nearly fumbled a note, but salvaged it. "I suppose not. Only a close friend and the six years I spent putting him back together."

I didn't answer. The secret service man in me desperately wanted details, but for all of Tohma's composure and poise, something in the man's expression kept me from asking. Suddenly, the keyboardist hit a discordant note and stopped. His eyes narrowed and he frowned at his own hands, as if they'd betrayed him. Then he glanced up at me accusingly, as if I'd done something wrong, something he resented. I had seen that look before. A hundred times, usually directed at Shuichi himself. When Tohma spoke, the words were spat out as if they had a bitter taste.

"I did things for him that most people wouldn't do for their own brother."

Again, I had no response. I had almost no idea what Tohma was referring to, only that he had been replaced in the eyes of someone who had once needed him. A few quiet moments passed, during which Tohma leaned forward with his head in his hands. I sat down beside him, and couldn't help noticing that Tohma scooted a hair away from me. Then, still with his head resting on his left palm, he reached forward and pressed a few keys. Again and again he played the same two notes, but gradually changed the volume and length of each one.

I watched his fingers. Up, then down. Into the ivory, then off again. I glanced up at Tohma's face. In just the past few minutes, Tohma's eyes had become more tired-looking and dull.

"Tohma….why don't you go home. I'll drive you."

"That wasn't the real reason why Mika called, though."

Up, down. In, off. I waited for more explanation, and it came.

"She's pregnant."

"Congratulations."

"It's not mine."

Jesus Christ. If there were a tactful way of doing it, I would have stood up and left right then. Possibly.

"You know this?"

Tohma nodded. "For a fact." Then he held up a finger, signaling for me to wait, and focused on the piano. Three notes in succession. Six…seven… He was making something up.

"You mean, you and Mika…You don't…"

Tohma shot me a look. "Of course we do," he said sharply. "But it isn't mine."

"She told you this?"

"I told her. Today, right before I spoke with you." His voice was hauntingly even, and my eyes were glued to him. "My wife is carrying a baby that could not have come from me. She didn't know before today that I physically can't give her any children to carry." Tohma retrieved the pencil from behind his ear and made a few scratches into the piece.

I watched him, speechless. As warped as the whole situation was, it was the confession itself that floored me. Seguchi Tohma had just told me he was unable to have children.

"I'm…I'm sorry."

Tohma dismissed my sympathy. "It's obviously old news to me, K-san. And I'd always viewed it as a sort of insurance. I just never thought it would be the key detail in exposing my wife's affair," he said with a short, bitter laugh.

My eyes were glued to him. "So…what are you going to do?"

Tohma looked at his watch. "For her sake and mine, I believe I'm going to sit here and play."

"For her sake?"

Tohma nodded. "I want to give her enough time to leave."

"You- are you kicking her out of your house?"

Tohma looked remotely offended. "Of course I'm not. I've never made her do anything. She got angry with me when I told her about her own child's parentage, understandably. But since she hasn't been entirely open with me-" Here an ironic smile crept onto Tohma's face, but fell as quickly as it had appeared. "She won't want to let this fester. If I know Mika, and I believe I do, she'll have cleared out almost entirely by now. And she'll wait for my call to begin the divorce."

He shrugged, like _that's that, _and brushed his bangs out of his face. It only gave me a clearer vision of his eyes, which told a different story from his casual demeanor. He began to play again, following the music with precise, dead notes.

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

He was unperturbed. "You asked."

"You know, your playing isn't very good today," I blurted.

Tohma turned to me and smiled, as if this was the best thing he'd heard all day long. "Excellent, K-san. There may be a grain of proper music appreciation in you yet."

I snorted.

"What would you have me do differently?"

I sat down on the bench beside him, grateful to be off the subject of Tohma's disloyal wife. "Well, you could play with some goddamn feeling… Just the other day you were gushing about how amazing this thing was, and now you're making it sound like it's filled with mud inside."

Tohma looked slightly bemused at my indignation- the first smile I had seen on him all day long that had an ounce of humor in it. "Let's see how inspired your playing is once you lose your wife to the father of her child," he said.

I had to laugh at that. For one thing, we both knew my marriage was a joke. But a wife in America was better than nothing. "I'm not a nationally-recognized musician adored for my alleged talents."

"Or any type of musician, adored or otherwise. So don't criticize my playing." Tohma's voice was mock-defensive, and the hollowness in his eyes seemed lightened. I caught myself grinning at the change and slapped on a smirk instead.

"It's almost midnight," I said, checking my wristwatch. "It's absolutely ridiculous that we're sitting in a practice room this late on a Wednesday night."

"Would it be normal on any other night of the week?"

"What?"

"Should we have waited until Thursday?"

I looked at him for a moment, then laughed. I wasn't accustomed to hearing banter from Seguchi Tohma. How strange to find he had a real personality beneath the shallow smiles and brutal professionalism.

"And besides," Tohma said. "I'm here to allow for personal issues. You were the one that came looking for me." Tohma seemed to reflect on that for a moment, looking at me with an expression I couldn't discern.

"And what's more, you found me, here," he said almost to himself. "Completely wifeless…" Tohma laughed at my expression and played a quick, fluid scale upwards with his right hand, his fingers flying. "But with a song in my heart."

He smiled at me like he'd said something funny, like he was mocking himself. But somehow, I got the feeling he wasn't really kidding at all.

I stood up. "I liked your song from the other day better. But I guess I'll leave you to it."

Tohma nodded. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked back to the door. When I reached it, I hesitated and turned back around.

Tohma looked at me questioningly, his hands resting beside him on the bench.

I averted my eyes. "Tohma…. I am sorry, though. Are you going to be alright?"

Tohma's face broke into a reassuring smile. "Of course, K-san. We've a concert to prepare for, remember. Besides, I've got this," he said, gesturing to the instrument in front of him. "And," he continued, "if the effort will make you feel any less disappointed in me, I'll even try to breathe a little more life into it for you."

I could appreciate Tohma's valiance in keeping his cool exterior. The man really was a pro. I exited back out to the hall. Shortly after the door clicked shut, I heard Tohma pick the song back up from the same measure I had initially interrupted. Only now, he kept going, and I looked back through the door window as Tohma continued with the rest of the piece. After a minute or so Tohma caught sight of me out of the corner of his eyes, and he glanced up, meeting my gaze through the glass. For a moment I felt a small, exhilarating connection with him, a quick second of normal, human understanding. Then Tohma turned his attention back to the music, and I smiled to myself as I headed back down the hallway, listening to the crescendo which followed behind me.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Well, that was a long one. I know it seems like I'm taking my sweet time with the plot here, but I promise promise promise it moves along nicely next chapter. Tohma angst abounds! Please review!! 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Author's Note:** New chapter- I hope you enjoy it! I'm sorry it's shorter than the last one, but it took me a while. I'm switching around a little bit with the POV's, to ensure maximum Tohma. It should be pretty obvious what's going on. Now, onwards!

* * *

Bad Luck receives hostile feedback all the time. In the pop-rock genre, we all understand that you get plenty of hate mail from fans of bands that consider themselves hard core. So when I got a message the morning of the Nittle Grasper/Bad Luck show addressed to both me and Tohma telling us to can the concert, I took it about as seriously as I did when I got an anonymous phone call telling me that NG was an undercover military camp and that Ryuichi was the spawn of Satan. Besides, it was advertised as one of the biggest concerts Tokyo would see for years: Nittle Grasper and Bad Luck, playing back to back shows at the Crescent Center. It was almost an immediate sell-out, and a guaranteed success from the start.

_"Tooku de me o hikarasete mezameru monotachi matte iru-"_

Routine sound check. "Get mike three down. I can't hear anything but Ryuichi."

_"-Mure no nukegara ni-"_

"Okay, I still can't hear Seguchi-san. Turn him up… Not his mike, you idiot, his speaker."

_"Umarekawareru anato yo hitori ho-"_

"No change." I took off my headset and turned on my intercom speaker. "Stop, guys. Seguchi-san, check your volume." I watched as the figure down on the stage fiddled with the controls in front of him. Then Tohma looked up to my box and held out his hands.

"Well, if it's not your volume, fix whatever it is. I can't hear you at all."

I looked at the camera screens. Down on the stage, Tohma tested his volume a moment more. "Can someone please check my speaker input?" he asked politely to the servicing minions milling about the stage. "It should be in line two." Tohma himself was pretty much caged in between his two instruments, a huge feedback speaker that was mostly for Ryuichi's benefit, and a nearly foot-high wall of wires, which Tohma himself had probably already nearly tripped over numerous times. Someone from the sound crew volunteered.

I leaned back. On the screen, I saw Tohma bend over his instrument, looking surprised. One of his chords appeared to be in the wrong plug-in, and I watched him grumble to no one in irritation as he switched it. I smiled, knowing he was mentally berating himself. Tohma had set up that instrument countless times, and sound improvements almost never had to be made on his behalf. "Nevermind, I found it," he called to the crew member. "I'm sorry."

I sat back up, as the issue seemed to be resolved. Ryuichi had moved back to the front of the stage and turned his mike back on, his childish persona gone for now. Tohma waved up at me. I put my headset back on. "Okay, guys. Try that again."

_"Tooku de me o hikarasete mezameru-"_

I nodded to myself during the introduction bars. Ryuichi sounded good. But on the beat of the first chorus, I heard a sharp popping noise, like two weak gunshots fired in succession. My head snapped up and I scanned the stage. My first reaction was relief- all three of them were still standing as if nothing had happened. Perhaps I had imagined it. But then I noticed Tohma had stopped playing. Just then, something sparked from the keyboard, and Tohma jumped back from it.

I flipped on my intercom and tried to talk over Ryuichi and Noriko, signaling for them to stop. "Seguchi-san, what was th-"

Suddenly, a final crack ripped through the auditorium, and I watched, horrified, as another spark erupted into a string of flashes. Ryuichi cried out and turned around just in time to see spastic flames almost two feet high shoot out from Tohma's instrument, sending Tohma careening backwards into the enormous speaker beside him. Within milliseconds, he was face-down, surrounded by the beginning of an electrical fire.

My heart stopped. Noriko screamed and practically leapt off-stage, lest her synthesizer be the next to go. Ryuichi began running across the stage, straight towards Tohma. Or at least, towards the flames behind which Tohma now lay.

* * *

As soon as he had heard the strange popping sound, Tohma's initial response had been to back off from the keyboard. Something was wrong. Ryuichi and Noriko hadn't noticed it, but Tohma could still hear the first reverberations in his ears; he definitely hadn't imagined it. Quickly, Tohma fumbled with the power switch to his synthesizer, reaching for his keyboard next. He barely got to it at all.

Tohma heard the explosion before he felt it. For a split second of panic his eyes widened at the ear-splitting crack. Then, before he even registered the sparks shooting from his cord holders, the sparks burst into flames, and Tohma felt an immense jolt run through his arm. Then he was sent flying backwards, his head reeling. He slammed hard into the speaker behind him, and the last thing he registered was Ryuichi running towards him, still holding his microphone.

* * *

**K**

I grabbed the speaker for my intercom. "Ryuichi, get back from there! Somebody kill the power!" But I knew it was too late. Tohma had been playing the entire tour inside a deathtrap, and the fire had already reached the wires that lay just feet away from Tohma's form. Ryuichi had skidded to a halt at my voice, and now stared in shock as a security officer ran onto the scene. I ran down from my box as well, as the ceiling sprinklers activated.

"Somebody turn those off! Ryuichi! Get the fuck back!"

I pushed my hair, now damp and clinging, out of my face as I ran onto the stage. Everyone had acted quickly- already all the stage outlets had been shut off, and the sprinklers were de-activated. Someone had retrieved a chemical fire extinguisher, and for a moment my vision of Tohma was obscured by its haze. By the time I reached him, a security officer and an on-set paramedic were already bent over his form.

The paramedic began barking orders, but all sounds and sights were tuned out from my attention. All I saw was Tohma. I'd expected blood- there was none. Only Tohma, nearly unconscious and face down, being gingerly turned over to his back. His head fell to one side, and his eyes were partially open. His breathing was quick and shallow. Watching helplessly, I understood the signs of shock.

The paramedic began cutting off Tohma's jacket and undershirt, and I was met with the overwhelming smell of charred flesh. The jacket, dusted with the unsettling white residue that had drifted from the fire extinguisher, was cast aside, exposing Tohma's bare skin. Splotches of red shaded one of his arms and his side, but it was the sight of his right forearm, the one I'd watched him try to correct his instrument settings with, which nearly made me vomit. I stood gazing at it, stunned, until another paramedic shouldered me out of the way.

I spun around, looking for Ryuichi.

* * *

I was out of breath by the time I entered Bad Luck's dressing room. Their vocalist let me in.

"Shindou-kun, we need Bad Luck to perform almost its entire repertoire tonight," I said quickly.

Shuichi gaped at me. "K-san, what's wrong?"

Hiro appeared beside him. "That could take over three hours! And…why are you wet?"

I shook my head. "I don't have time. Tohma… there's been an accident."

"What?!"

"What happened?"

I knew they were entitled to some answers, but I was in a hurry. "Listen, just plan your song list. Nittle Grasper won't be performing-"

"They've got to!" Shuichi protested.

"Will you shut up and let me talk? Ryuichi's agreed to do a solo and a couple songs with you, but then it's all Bad Luck. And your sound check's been delayed- _None_ of you are allowed on stage until Sakano says you are, do you understand me? He'll fill you in."

Shuichi exchanged confused glances with Hiro, then looked back to me. "K-san, what's-"

"It's Tohma. Talk to Sakano… I've got to go."

"But you're _our_ manager! Go where?!"

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Well, there be it. I know it was kind of disjointed, but I figured the situation would be a bit chaotic. Furthermore, I hope no one holds it against me that I don't know precisely how a rigged keyboard would explode... I had to guess.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Author's Note:** Here's the next chapter! It's pretty long. I'm still messing a bit with the POV's, but not too much. In this chapter: Ryuichi being kind of cute, a stereotypical unhelpful medical staff member, and finally, a bit of that plot I've been promising for five chapters.

* * *

The police business didn't take much time, all things considered. No one believed for very long that an equipment malfunction alone could have caused such an outrageous accident, and an investigation was underway in no time. There were plenty of people who hated Nittle Grasper, but far fewer who had a strong enough grudge against Seguchi Tohma to tamper so dangerously with his instrument. And considering Tohma's power, as I suggested to the authorities, the culprit would likely be someone who'd already lost everything they had to lose. There was only one man whose life had been single-handedly and completely dismantled by Seguchi Tohma. Leaving this information with the investigators, I left them do to their jobs and went to do what I saw to be mine. 

"I'm sorry, but only family is allowed in Seguchi-sama's room."

"What! I've been waiting since last night!" It was true, too. I had spent two hours or so alone in the waiting room, and the next several trying to console a frantic and weeping Ryuichi. The nurse, unfortunately, was having none of it.

"I'm sorry, but you're not cleared to be in there. He's still highly unstable, and-"

"Look, woman, do you realize you have a bipolar and slightly psychotic pop idol in your lobby who is presently climbing the walls because he's convinced his best friend is already _dead_?"

"You can assure him Seguchi-sama is not, and is receiving the best possible treatment. But as I said, I can't let either of you in there now. And anyway, he's still unconscious."

I was growing impatient. "Can I at least go up to speak with Mika?"

She looked puzzled. "Who?"

"Mika. His wife. The one allowed inside his room, if you will."

"We tried to contact his wife. We haven't been able to reach her. I understand his cousin will be here shortly, and you may speak with his brother-in-law now, if you wish."

Of course. Yuki Eiri.

Half an hour later, I found Ryuichi. He was on the floor with his back leaning against the leg of a chair in the lobby, and I took the seat above him. "I promise he's alive," I told him for the third time. "I only couldn't see him because we're not related."

He chewed on Kumaguroo's ear, sniffing. "What does it matter if we're related?" he said, looking at me strangely.

I sighed. "Not me and you, me and Tohma. But I talked to Yuki Eiri, and I promise he's alive. But..." My words got caught in my throat. "He's in bad shape, Ryuichi. Everything you'd expect for someone who went swimming in a heap of flaming cords," I said darkly. "He also hit his head hard right after the explosion. That's why we can't see him."

Ryuichi rubbed at his eyes. "I want to see Tohma-kun," he whined.

"Me too," I answered softly. "But you can see him soon."

"Is he in a coma?"

He was in full child mode, eyes big and watery. I suspected that behind the chibi mask and high-maintenance questions, the real Ryuichi was in there, listening and grieving over his best friend's condition. "No, Ryuichi, he's not in a coma."

"So you're sure he'll wake up."

"Positive," I said, more confidently than I felt. "He'll probably be scared shitless when he does."

* * *

K was right on both counts. Tohma woke up early in the morning two days later, to a dim lamp left on in his room during the night and to the humming of something that may or may not have been connected to whatever was stuck into his arm. He recognized his surroundings almost immediately- the sterile walls, the neon illuminations on a black screen to his left. After his eyes slowly adjusted, he recognized Fujisaki curled up in a chair in front of the large window. 

What scared Tohma was that he couldn't remember why he was there, and he couldn't call out to his cousin. His throat hurt terribly when he tried, and he couldn't find his voice at all. He tried again and again, each time wincing at the pain.

He was covered from his chest down by a white sheet, and feebly attempted now to heft himself into a sitting position. His body responded poorly; he could barely feel his muscles at work at all. Tohma refused to panic, but this immobility was suffocating. After a few minutes of effort he felt himself becoming groggy again, and had to fight against unconsciousness. He wanted to know what had happened. But Fujisaki couldn't hear him. He couldn't speak.

Forcing himself to breath slowly,Tohma noticed a table to his right, with a binder positioned upright atop it. Across the top it read '_Visitor and Patient's Guid_e,' but the text beneath it was too small for Tohma's bleary eyes to make out. It didn't matter; if he could reach over and knock the notebook to the floor, Fujisaki might wake up. Tohma mentally prepared himself, and willed the muscles in his right arm upwards, exerting nearly all his energy into the single action.

It was a bad decision, and Tohma paid for it. It felt as if a dozen knives were piercing his arm from the inside out, and Tohma's voice came back with the force of his intense, agonized cry.

What had been done to him?! Gasping for breath, he closed his eyes, dizzy and sick from the pain. He lay there for a few moments, willing himself not to vomit. Then, he felt a cool hand on his forehead. His lids flew open to the sight of his cousin's eyes peering into his own.

* * *

**K**

Fujisaki had been ushered out of Tohma's room in the middle of the night, and I guessed either something was very wrong, or Tohma was awake. The next afternoon, I was allowed in. By then I'd been joined by what seemed like half the NG team in the waiting room, although I suspected some of the visitors were simply underlings who couldn't function at work without orders from the president. I had never seen some of these people in my life.

Some poor hospital intern had been shocked at the number of people looking at him when he'd come, clipboard in hand, to the waiting room. I suspected he hadn't expected to address a crowd of faces all watching him expectantly. "Um," he began, "if you're all here for Seguchi Tohma, I can inform you he is awake."

Chatter erupted from the mass of people, and the intern, intimidated, took the opportunity to shuffle back down the hallway in search of someone else to handle the situation. I seized Ryuichi by the wrist and followed him. Sakano wasn't far behind.

After some more haggling the head nurse was summoned by the overwhelmed intern, and she finally overcame the prejudice she'd developed against me from our conversation earlier, and conceded to discuss what had been determined of Tohma's injuries.

"I should begin by emphasizing just how incredibly lucky your president is."

I snorted, and she ignored me.

"He woke up in extreme pain this morning, and with severely diminished feeling in his right limbs. We're unsure of the full extent of the damage done to his right arm in particular, but we ran some tests almost immediately and should be receiving the results very soon. However, I'm afraid his injuries are severe. His use of his right hand may be affected for the rest of his life." Here Ryuichi made a small, worried sound, and the vision of Tohma passionately playing that old, out-dated grand piano with his deft keyboardist's fingers flashed into my head. She continued. "His other arm should heal, though it will require attention. He was immensely fortunate not to receive a concussion, but-"

"What do you mean "affected?" I interrupted loudly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Affected," I repeated, "you said his use of his right hand could be 'affected.' What does that mean?"

She paused for a moment before answering, "we're unable to say exactly, right now. The doctor I spoke with has told me that area received the worst degree burns, and surgery will be absolutely necessary. But the movement and agility of his arm and hand could be severely weakened irrevocably."

"Fuck!" I swore loudly, barely keeping from punching a hole in the wall. I felt my hands shaking. They all turned, surprised by my outburst, but I didn't care. The nurse recovered, and continued in a professional manner while I tried to regain my composure.

"Again, I must stress that you consider how fortunate Seguchi-sama is to be alive, considering-"

"Yeah, that's great fortune…Having someone torch your hand off," I snarled, not caring that the nurse wasn't in the least to blame.

She looked at me, taken aback by my attitude.

"Seguchi-san is a musician," Sakano said nervously, looking from me to her.

The nurse nodded. "Yes, part of Nittle Grasper, I'm aware. Well, I can only tell you now that perhaps the doctor has over-estimated the burns, or under-estimated your keyboardist. Realistically, though, he may never play up to his performance level again."

Sakano looked nervously at Ryuichi, who closed his eyes. I wondered if they knew the half of it- perhaps Ryuichi did, or perhaps not. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was the only one who knew that losing his music could possibly kill Tohma. "When will you know?" I demanded of the nurse.

"In a few hours at the most."

I reached for the handle to Tohma's door, but the nurse placed a hand against it, stopping me. "There's one more thing," she said to us. "Seguchi-sama isn't aware of the full extent of his injuries now. In a few hours or so when his medication wears off more completely, I or the doctor will be coming in to explain to him everything I just explained to you."

"A few hours… But he was medicated in the middle of last night? What kind of medication are we talking about, here?" I said, accusingly.

"We gave him more than just something for his pain. He was sedated," she answered.

Ryuichi fidgeted, and Sakano looked worriedly at me. "Was that necessary?" I asked.

"It was a light sedative," she responded, smoothing the papers over her clipboard as if she were about through with us. "He'd attempted to move about when he regained consciousness, despite his injuries. He almost hurt himself further. His body wasn't ready for the stress of waking up. We just gave him more time."

She moved away after that, leaving us to exchange nervous glances. Then, while Sakano stayed in the hallway to make a phone call, Ryuichi and I went in. I thought it ironic that Sakano was the one of us to think of handling the loose business ends at a time like this, but it was reassuring that someone did. His hurried conversation could be heard in the hallway, and I closed the door behind me.

Tohma was seated upright, but that's about all that could be said for him. His skin barely stood out from the pale sheets, and his arms, one more heavily bandaged than the other, were slack at his sides. However, he seemed keenly aware of our entrance, and smiled at us through partially lidded eyes.

"Tohma-chan…" Ryuichi whined at the sight. He sat on Tohma's left, taking his good hand into his own and laying his head down on the sheets next to Tohma.

The intimate gesture was lost on Tohma. He continued to smile at us. "I'm sedated," he announced, his light, feminine voice slurred. "You mustn't worry about me, Sakuma-san, because I'm alright. Just sedated. They gave me a s-… a sed... ive….sedative," he finished triumphantly. Ryuichi sat up and looked mournfully at him.

Clearly, any discussion about Tohma's condition was out of the question.

"Ah, K-san, I wanted to speak with you. All these wires here," he said, looking at his IV tube with offense. "If you could have them removed for me, it would be helpful. You may store them on the fourth floor, if you like. I'll be there shortly."

It was pitiful, and I didn't answer, or couldn't.

"Leave them, Tohma-chan. They're important," Ryuichi cooed.

"Of course I'll leave them. They sedated me to keep me from accidentally pulling at them again, you know." Tohma seemed to consider the cords carefully. "Although, I believe I could do away with them if I wanted to."

Here, Sakano made his quiet entrance, pocketing his cell phone. Tohma noticed him and smiled. "Hello, Sakano-san. I trust that Bad Luck performed well?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. President!" Sakano answered, bowing enthusiastically.

"Very good. That will be all for now. If you can come by later this afternoon, there are a few more things I'd like to discuss with you. But be careful, or they may sedate you, too."

Sakano looked up, not understanding, but I shook my head at him, indicating for him not to worry or bother responding.

Things continued in this manner for the better part of three hours; for half the afternoon we listened to his pathetic hospital musings. New company came and went, and Ryuichi was eventually summoned to consult with Noriko, but Sakano and I remained with Tohma.

By four o'clock he was exhausted again and less up to talking, but acting very much more like the president we knew. Another nurse had come by twice and seemed pleased by this, but we still had no word from the doctor.

"Tell me again what happened, K-san," Tohma said quietly at one point, shifting his gaze and focusing his dilated pupils on me. "I've forgotten what you said."

"Your keyboard, Seguchi-san. It caught on fire, remember? And you nearly with it."

"I know _that_. But why?"

I hesitated. "Don't worry about that now, alright? The police are handling it."

"I suppose Aizawa-san is suspected."

I looked to the side for a moment, but nodded. "Yes, but don't worry about that now. Just concentrate on…" I tripped over my words. "On getting better."

Tohma's gaze lingered on me, then he looked down at himself. He was covered from the waist down. Underneath his hospital gown his right side had been heavily favored, and he reached his left hand over to trail his fingers over the bandages.

"Sakano-san, could you excuse us for a moment?" he said abruptly, looking up. Sakano bowed and practically dashed out of the room at the request, and I was left with a serious and perfectly coherent Tohma.

"K-san, if you've been told something of my condition, I'd much prefer you tell me now, so I don't have to wait for my nurse to finally deem me rational enough to discuss the matter."

"Tohma…"

"If any sort of further treatment is necessary, I'm anxious to begin it. Cost is, of course, not a factor. You understand, don't you, K-san?" He looked at me anxiously. "Nittle Grasper is just beginning an international tour. I've got to recover quickly."

"Tohma, I..." I was at a loss for words. What was there to say? How do you tell someone who wants to "recover quickly" that they may not recover at all?

Tohma watched me expectantly, absently fingering at the bandage over his right arm. Suddenly, he froze. "K-san."

"Yes?"

"K-san," he said slowly, looking down at his arm. "When I try to move my right arm, it hurts. Very much, deep inside. But when I touch it…." He grabbed his own forearm fiercely with his left hand, heedless of the bandages and the nurse's orders. "It doesn't hurt. I don't …. I don't feel anything." He looked up at me, his eyes wide. "K-san?"

I drew in a deep breath. "Now, Tohma-"

"Ah, Seguchi-sama, good to see you looking so alert," I heard a voice behind me. "You responded a bit more acutely to that sedative than most patients." It was the nurse, and she was smiling. Too brightly.

Tohma's eyes bore hard into mine for a moment more, and then he looked, alarmed, at the nurse. "What's wrong with my arm?" he asked.

She flashed me an accusing glare, as if I'd somehow done something wrong. "That's what I'm here to discuss with you." She whipped out her trusty clipboard, ignoring my presence henceforward. "Now, when your instrument…malfunctioned, I believe you must have been touching it with your right hand?"

Tohma opened his mouth, and closed it again. Of course he didn't remember.

"Yes, well, you suffered severe third-degree and mild fourth-degree burning in that region, hence the-"

"_Mild_ fourth-degree burning?" I repeated incredulously.

"It's alright, K-san. Please continue, Miss."

"Hence the insensate quality. The current did cause some further internal damage, which was one of the first things we addressed. You've also got second-degree burning, on your other arm. Now, you should be through with all the effects of shock upon your brain, and you did not receive a concussion; however, your aterograde amnesia is to be expected. Upon admittance your airway status was assessed and passed, and you were given a moderate dosage of Lactated Ringer's solution to ensure proper fluid resuscitation, at which point it was decided that you would not be relocated to a specialized burn center. Do you have any questions, before I go on?"

Tohma looked as if he had only processed a small portion of what had been said to him, and he struggled to maintain a steady demeanor. "I- I'm very sorry, but I don't understand what all that means."

She looked at him for a moment, and then smiled, patting his shoulder lightly. He looked aghast at the physical contact, and I wanted to box her ears. "It means that you are mentally recovered, and many of your burns are superficial enough to heal on their own over the next three weeks or so. This will likely be accompanied by nausea, headaches, fevers, and dizziness, though, because of your other burns. While the body heals itself, it also-"

"Could you please cut the crap and tell him what the fuck is wrong with his goddamned right arm?"

She looked agitated, but finally addressed him straightly. "Your right hand is insensate because the nerve endings have been destroyed. The burning was deep enough to affect the muscle tissue, possibly to the point of general immobility. Even otherwise, the range of movement in your arm will without question be hindered, and your hand will lose a minimum of sixty percent its dexterity."

My stomach dropped. I looked from her to Tohma, dreading his reaction.

There was none. He sat silently for a few seconds, and then nodded. "I think I understand. If… if I'm not mistaken, fourth-degree burning is often fatal? I suppose I should be grateful."

She looked triumphantly at me, but my attention was on Tohma, who continued with a steady voice. "If we could leave it at that for now, I think I'd like to wait before discussing whatever else there may be."

"Of course," she said, straightening. "The rest is just treatment options, none of which we can start for days anyway. I'll be back in an hour." And with that, she was gone.

Suddenly Sakano replaced her, looking concerned and frantic. I scowled and began to throw him out, but Tohma addressed him evenly.

"Is anything wrong, Sakano-san?"

"Ah, no, sir! I just wanted to inform you that I've spoken with your doctor and your performance manager, and they both agree that when you are released, you're allowed to go on stage with Nittle Grasper, and…. although…"

I cringed and silently willed him to shut up, while he tugged nervously at his tie. "Although you won't be able to play, lighting and set arrangements are being made so that the audience won't be able to tell any difference, so… so you should not worry about Nittle Grasper! We will take care of everything!" he finished, bowing zealously.

Tohma gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That's very good, Sakano-san. Thank you."

"Get out," I muttered to Sakano, who blessedly obeyed.

I watched Tohma watch him go, and didn't move a muscle. Only when the door thudded shut behind me did the words Sakano and the nurse had spoken begin to crack resolutely at Tohma's exterior.

"Hindered movement," he repeated to himself, almost wonderingly. "Forty percent dexterity…at best? 'Immobility?' K-san," he said, looking to me desperately. "I can't _play_."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Man, I'm pretty hard on the poor president. And I know, I know, that was long as hell. But look- PLOT! I'll probably hitch up the K/Tohma a little more starting next chapter. Review! 


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **Here's the next chapter! I hope everyone enjoys it.

* * *

"K-san, I can't _play_." 

I sat down next to his bed. His eyes unfocused and he stared at nothing, and I could only imagine what he was seeing in his mind. All the nurse's facts and data had essentially one implication: Tohma's music had been taken away from him. As the full truth sank in, his bewildered expression was overtaken by horror, his features paling. His left hand fisted over the clean folds of his sheets and he began to tremble, visibly.

"Tohma?"

He drew a sharp breath, still silent and shaking. I couldn't tell if he was still ardently suppressing his emotions, or if this was what it was like to watch Seguchi Tohma lose control. He didn't respond. Even more worried now, I tentatively said his name again. He didn't look at me; his gaze was intently fixed on the air in front of him. I wondered if he was even aware of my presence, or if he'd completely withdrawn into himself. When he spoke, it wasn't to me.

"Aizawa-san will have to be killed, of course."

That certainly got my attention. "Wait, what? Tohma- _no_." I stood over him, gripping his good shoulder almost harshly. When he still didn't acknowledge me, I shook him, watching his eyes closely. "Look at me," I insisted.

Finally, his light eyes unclouded and slowly drifted towards me, and he tore himself from wherever he'd been to the present. "Stay with me, Tohma," I said, sitting on the edge of his bed so he could see me clearly. "The police are taking care of things, and anyways you're a patient right now."

He passed his hand over his eyes and nodded. "Of course," he said quietly. "Forgive me, K-san. This is just quite a shock." He averted his eyes, and they fell upon his useless bandaged hand. "I- I'm not accustomed to… Perhaps you should leave."

"No," I answered. I was resolved, and it didn't matter to me whether or not he was used to experiencing strong emotions in front of other people. Tohma may not like facing this new cruel reality in my presence, but I wouldn't leave him here to suffer alone. "It's okay, Tohma."

He didn't take his eyes off his lifeless arm, and I didn't take mine off him for some time. Then, slowly, I watched his eyes begin to water, looking deceptively bright behind his dark eyelashes. He blinked and turned his face from me, wordlessly. My stomach clenched at the sight. In general, I'm not known as a substantial source of sympathy for other people, but it's impossible not to feel for someone when they're trying their damnedest not to cry in front of you.

Tohma covered his eyes, and I tactfully averted mine, suddenly feeling awkward. Why though, had I insisted on staying with him if I was only going to make him self-conscious? Naturally, you don't want to leave someone hurting to hurt by themselves, but Tohma obviously didn't know how to take comfort in the presence of others like normal, emotionally balanced people did. It occurred to me that perhaps we would have both been better off had I left him to himself.

I resolved to discretely leave, hoping he would appreciate my perception. But just as I began shifting my weight to stand up, a small, almost inaudible sound emitted from him. I glanced at him sharply, and there it was again- his breath hitched, and his quiet, almost girlish voice broke into a stifled sob. He bent his head, shoulders trembling, his hand still over his eyes.

There was nothing for it after that. Tohma needed human contact after all, I was becoming certain of it, and if it fell to me to be the provider then so be it. Sidling over next to him, I took his hand and brought it down from his face. His eyes were wet. He didn't look at me; that was fine. Wary of his injuries, I put my arm behind his neck and with my palm against his ear, I guided his head onto my shoulder.

"Tohma." I didn't say anything else, because I had no other words for him. Already he was gaining control over himself, pushing those walls of his back up almost as quickly as they had fallen. I shook my head to myself- unless I was mistaken, this small show of emotion would scarcely satisfy the despair that was building up in Tohma for long. He would need help before this was over.

_And he'll get it,_ I thought to myself. Scarcely realizing it, I began running my fingers lightly through Tohma's blond hair, as his breathing slowed. Somewhere along the line, Tohma had become a special case.

* * *

Tohma had surgery- a skin graft. Other than the date and time I didn't know the first thing about the procedure, and when I was honest with myself, I didn't really want to. I understood that it would replace missing skin, and make Tohma's arm look more like an arm and less like a charred mass of exposed tissue. This was enough for me, and although Tohma insisted on being informed of every minute detail of how it was to be done – a distinctly Tohmian move if I'd ever seen one- I think this was most of what he fully understood as well. At any rate we knew it was necessary, so at 4:15 on his seventh day in the hospital, the surgery was performed. 

There had pretty much been a constant flow of visitors over his stay- both people who had a right to be there and people who, in my prejudiced opinion, didn't. The procedure wasn't supposed to be dangerous by any stretch of the imagination, but on principle that was the day that what seemed like half his employees showed up at the hospital. Hours after the graft was completed they were every one of them sent away for the night by the nurse, but Tohma had asked for me.

He wasn't delusional this time around. Thank God. He was just tired, and by the time I got into his room, he was well on his way to falling asleep anyway. We didn't speak. It didn't seem necessary. All I did was sit and alternate between watching him as he drowsed and looking out the window, and I knew that anyone could have sat with him and done the same. Or, for all the good I was, Tohma could have been left to himself entirely for the night.

But he had asked for me, shockingly. I thought the fact that Tohma had actually requested company was astounding in itself, let alone that he'd asked for me instead of Ryuichi or - I scowled - Yuki Eiri. I tried not to analyze why; the inner workings of Seguchi Tohma seemed completely inscrutable to the likes of me. But it was impossible not to feel singled out, and in a good way.

I helped him get ready to leave when he was finally released. Much to his irritation he was obliged to be pushed out in a wheelchair, lest any accidents occur on hospital property. I volunteered, although as he repeatedly informed me, he technically could have walked it. His leg was virtually healed, and his left arm was on its way, though slowly. He'd lied to everyone about when he was to be released, telling them he'd be busy with the doctors on the day I actually drove him home. I suspected it was all because of that damn wheel chair, and as I looked down at him I could understand why. The image of Seguchi Tohma, fully dressed even to the hat, being maneuvered about in a hospital chair completely undermined the reputation he'd maintained for years as the untouchable head of what seemed like half of Tokyo.

As I wheeled him through the automatic doors under the close surveillance of his nurse, he cradled his right arm, lost in thought. I knew that underneath the loose dress shirt he'd so painstakingly pulled on, his arm was still bandaged heavily and probably still painful, though he didn't let any feeling of the sort show.

"Glad to be going home?" I said, attempting to counter the silence that stretched between us as I turned him onto the sidewalk. I didn't like Tohma being so quiet; it was worrisome. But my determined cheerfulness apparently didn't merit an answer, so I received none.

It was a quiet drive to Tohma's house, too. I drove him in my car, and he spent most of the trip with his hand over his forehead and his eyes tight shut, as if he had a migraine. I remembered what the nurse had said- "nausea, headaches, fevers, and dizziness," and suspected that this was only the beginning of a very rough couple of weeks for Tohma.

After pulling into his long driveway, I helped him get his things in, quickly because if anyone saw us Tohma would have to deal with the questions on why he'd snuck out of the hospital without alerting the masses. "Thank you, K-san," he said to me after I'd laid his bag down against the wall in the entrance foyer of his home. "For driving me. And…" he looked unsure of himself momentarily, adjusting his hat. "For everything else. I appreciate your help. I may need it again over the next few weeks, at the studio. I don't expect to be there at all for a few days."

"It's nothing, Tohma," I said, and prepared to leave him to himself. On my way out though, my hand lingered over the door knob. I heard him pocketing his keys and picking up his bag, behind me. When I turned back around to him, he looked at me expectantly.

"What is it, K-san?"

I didn't answer at first. All I could picture was Tohma as I had seen him a few short weeks ago- smiling at me from behind his out-dated grand piano. Now, as he cocked his head questioningly at my silence, he just looked so small in his huge, empty house. I dropped my hand to my side.

"Tohma, do you want me to stay? Here, with you?" He nearly dropped his bag. "Because of your arm," I added quickly. "I just thought- I mean, it took you forever just to get dressed today, and I know you're right-handed, and…"

He just looked at me as I rambled. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I clamped my mouth shut, wary now of anything that might come out of it. If I'd crossed some professional line that he wanted respected, that's all she wrote. What could have possibly possessed me to ask something like to _Seguchi Tohma_, I had no idea.

After a moment, he smiled his closed-eye smile. I was beginning to hate that smile. "That's kind of you," he said. "But I'm not exactly an invalid, I don't think. I should be able to function just fine on my own without inconveniencing anyone in such a way." As if to prove his point, he gathered up his things and started re-situating himself in his home. I suppose he expected me to accept that and make my humble exit. But I watched him more closely than he expected, and saw how gingerly he held even his "good" hand as he moved about.

"I'm not convinced, Tohma," I said. "How many days of work are you missing?"

He stopped and sighed. "Hopefully not as many as my doctor seemed to expect. My left arm is supposed to practically heal itself in the next few weeks, and I'm hoping to come back before then."

I waited, sensing there was more. "But…" He cast his eyes downward, as if admitting some great shame to me. "But it hurts. My head, too- it hurts all the time, ever since I woke up." He snapped his head up quickly. "I'm not complaining, K-san, because I'm sure I'll be fine soon. But I want you to understand, since you'll be the one my employees go to while I'm not there."

I held up a hand to stop him. "I don't care about all that, Tohma. It doesn't ma-"

"It _does_ matter, K-san," he said almost desperately. "Even during Nittle Grasper's performance season, I've always been able to take care of things at work. And now…." He shook his head. "The idea of setting foot into NG is daunting. Much less working and dealing with the people inside it."

I nodded. "I understand. I only asked to get an idea how you were feeling. And like I said, I'm not convinced you'll be alright on your own until you can at least use that left hand of yours better."

He couldn't argue with me on that point. Driving, performing everyday tasks in the house… it would all be difficult enough using his weak hand if it _weren't_ hurt, and as things were, doing things like wrapping his own bandages could prove nearly impossible. Tohma seemed to consider this for a few moments, seemed to consider me. Then, avoiding my eyes, he nodded his consent.

"Good," I said. "I'll go home and get my things. Do you need anything before I go?"

"No," he said quietly, and I nodded again, feeling his eyes on me as I left.

* * *

When I returned with a duffel bag of clothes, I didn't see Tohma anywhere. I glanced around briefly, pausing a moment to take in the sheer size of the place, before ambling down a hallway. I felt like I was trespassing, despite having Tohma's explicit permission to be there. Everything was so immaculate, so silent and perfectly situated, that I was afraid of touching anything. I cautiously opened a few doors, looking for a guest room, or somewhere suitable for me to dump my bag. I knew I could easily have just called out for Tohma, but part of me was enjoying poking around. My bag slung over one shoulder, I pushed open several doors, finding mostly sitting rooms and a bathroom. Only one room did I actually enter- the last room on the hall, behind a large white door that looked just all the others. 

As the door opened silently, I squinted. It was a corner room, and one window faced full west. In addition to the doorway and the wall next to me, the plane of sunlight illuminated a concert-sized piano.

I moved towards it. This was no old-school grand, rejected from early users and hidden in the storage vaults of NG. This instrument was sleek and white, almost formidable even with the lid closed. I could see my reflection on the top of it, the polish practically glowing in the natural light. I didn't dare run my hand along its perfect edge. The only indication that it had been played at all was a thick music book, leaning closed against the music stand.

That, I did pick up. Its title was in a language not Japanese or English, but I still tried briefly to decipher it before giving up. The book opened easily to a song towards the center, a crease in the binding directly behind it. _Metamorphisi_, the title read. Tohma was apparently fond of this piece. There were notes and markings all over the page in his small, uniform handwriting. At the beginning of the music, the composer's instructions _"andante" _were typed, and Tohma had lightly crossed through it with a single pencil line, and written _"allegretto con brio"_ to the right. I smiled. Leave it to Tohma to take a copyrighted work and do whatever the hell he pleased with it. I scanned over the piece, wishing the circles and lines meant more to me than they did, wishing I understood why Tohma circled this italicized letter and not that one. Sighing, I set the book back down, giving the instrument one last, appreciative, look.

"Mika nearly had a conniption when I bought it."

I spun around. There stood Tohma, his jacket removed and his right hand cradled against his stomach. In his other hand he held a glass of water.

"Tohma!" I said, jerking my hand back from the book.

He just smiled at me, per the usual. "She didn't understand why I could possibly want more than the keyboard and upright I already had upstairs. I suppose I _am_ a bit spoiled. Could you hold this?" he asked, and I took the glass from him. He dropped two pills he'd been holding in his bad hand into his left, and gingerly raised them to his mouth before taking the water back from me. "But then, I also think she was prejudiced because we're right beneath the bedroom, and she got sick of hearing it night and day. Or rather," he corrected himself, "hearing me. The instrument itself is perfect," he said with pride, setting his glass on the floor.

He gazed at it fondly, as if upon his own child. "She never seemed to care for it, though. Literally one of the finest-crafted instruments of its kind in existence, and for all she cared it could be that old Schiedmayer at NG. She would close the door, or ask if I could wait until she was out of the house before playing."

His voice trailed off, before he looked down embarrassedly. "Not that any of that's relevant anymore, what with….one thing and another." I cringed, not only because he was right, but because of the pain in his voice when he said it. He continued in his falsely cheerful voice, clearly not wanting to make me uncomfortable. "Would you like to see inside?"

"Oh. Um, sure," I answered, realizing I'd never bothered to observe directly the inner workings of such an instrument. He hefted up the lid with his good hand, and I leaned over his shoulder for a look. He glanced at me for a response, and I nodded as if I understood the thing.

"It's not been re-tuned yet," he said, lowering the lid gently, and somewhat awkwardly since he was limited to his weak hand. I nearly helped him, but the piano seemed off-limits. Like a museum piece that only employees could handle. "It's never had to have been," he continued in his light voice. "I'm a bit particular about it, although more often than not I forget to lower the lid when I'm not using it. Dust gets inside. Come to think of it…." He ran a finger along the edge of the lid and raising it to his face, he frowned. "It's lucky that I happened to close it the last time I played, before…"

His voice trailed off, and he straightened. I watched him closely, and he sighed, running his hand through his hair before absently resting it over his bandaged arm. "Anyway," he said, shaking his head clear, "I should show you where you can sleep, K-san."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Well, there it is. Kind of transitional, but I had to have something lead into the upcoming slash. Review, please? 


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **I know this took a long time to crank out. When school and personal relationships pick up stress-wise, it always seems like my writing's the one to suffer. Sorry! I'm back now.

* * *

The next seven days were, simply put, hellish for both of us. Tohma made a valiant attempt at resuming his work at NG almost immediately, writing and making phone calls with his left hand for several hours and staunchly refusing me entry whenever I went up to check on him. When I finally forced my way in around mid-day, I found him discouraged and literally nauseous- either from his arm or the very atmosphere of the studio. In addition to being physically unwell, Tohma was being called for every five minutes by some contact or another who wanted an update on his status. I knew, because I had to put up with them too, hordes of employees stopping me in the hallway asking how Tohma was and if he'd be performing any time soon. In the end, I drove him home and he collapsed – carefully - on a couch without even attempting the stairs up to his room, and that was the end of his brave office endeavors for a while.

I couldn't help Ryuichi focus for the rest of the tour, which was to resume with or without Tohma, as soon as possible. I couldn't make any big decisions except for those concerning Bad Luck. I couldn't coordinate schedules because no one respected me enough to report to me, and I certainly couldn't manipulate Tohma's contacts the way he could. So Tohma's hands were full, even from his big, empty house. Several days that week, I came home late at night to find him still working, and it was all I could do to order some delivery food and force him to eat it at his desk. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't, but eventually I learned to just order whatever I wanted. He would pass out shortly afterwards.

I also managed to take over some of his work at the studio, to the absolute best of my ability. While he was as busy as ever even in his condition, I did just about everything for him that I damn well could. Tohma assigned to me the task of scouting out a rookie band he'd received good reports of, and making a few pay role adjustments based on the previous month's profit. I also attended a number of mind-numbing meetings on his behalf, and even took his place presenting a project proposal to a panel which I guessed had essentially no power whatsoever over whether or not he implemented the project in the end.

By this point, I didn't even try telling myself I was doing it for NG. I was doing it for Tohma, if the two were actually distinguishable, and every day it became more obvious to me.

"Tohma, why don't you let me talk to that journalist for you?"

"Tohma, why don't you let me type up that letter for you?"

"Tohma, why don't you let me open that jar for you?"

I got a glare for that one, which I probably didn't deserve but should have expected.

"Thank you, K-san, I think I can manage," he said, with just a bit of resentment in his tone. It was early evening, and the light outside was fading into the window. Tohma turned from me slightly and set the jar on the counter, attempting to twist loose the lid with only his forefinger and thumb, while holding it weakly in place with his other three fingers. The jar slid to the right, the top firmly in place. I was surprised to see it was some cooking ingredient, and a few others were scattered about. Tohma, who had probably never had to cook in his life if he even ate at all, was trying to make a meal.

He sensed me watching his vain efforts, and looked up angrily. "Haven't you got anything else to be doing right now?" he said.

"Not until you get dinner on the table, love," I teased. Without thinking.

Tohma whirled around in a flourish of expensive clothes that couldn't have been worth the effort it took him to get on. "What did you say?" he hissed, and for a moment I thought the jar was coming straight at my head. It was a comfort to know that his left-handed aim couldn't be very good.

I held up my hands. "Tohma, jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," I said, trying to diffuse the situation. "It's just… I mean, that _is_ what you're doing, isn't it?" I glanced around at the kitchen.

"No," he said defensively, as if making dinner for one's self was a sign of weakness in men of his position. Or maybe men at all.

I didn't see the gravity of the situation, either way. "Okay, so you're just opening a jar of crushed cardamoms for an evening snack. But it doesn't look like you're going to get into it anytime soon."

He looked at me. I couldn't read the expression this time.

"So, maybe I should just do it for you?" I finished hesitantly, holding out my palm face up.

He pursed his lips together, and gave me that angry, pouting glare that makes Tohma look almost too young to be taken seriously, if you knew Tohma like I felt I did. I'd seen more dangerous looks from him. Far more dangerous. But he still slammed the jar back down, as hard as he could with his weak hand not yet fully recovered, and stalked past me. He didn't bother telling me off. I sighed, listening to his angry footsteps recede to somewhere else in the house.

I should have been more careful, I supposed. I knew that even while practically running NG from home, Tohma was having a hard time feeling productive. I'd seen him fumble around the house, unsure how to wash his clothes at all, much less with one hand. I'd watched him balance a telephone precariously on his almost-immobile right shoulder, while trying to write legibly with his left hand, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. If Tohma wanted to scrap at a damn jar for a while, I should have just let him waste his time.

I sighed again, and slouched off to find him. Maybe I'd apologize, though I wasn't sure how to articulate what for. At the very least, maybe I'd ask him about what he was making, or something along those lines. "Tohma?" I called, hoping he'd just answer me so I didn't have to spend fifteen minutes searching the house's massive interior.

He didn't, but it didn't take that long for me find him. I heard the piano almost immediately. I rolled my eyes. Should have guessed. But it was muffled from behind a white door he used to keep open. Almost no light shone out from the crack beneath it. I knew Tohma was in there, seeking consolation in the one thing he truly loved. Just as he had done on the fourth floor of NG.

The sound was low. Forced. There was no melody, as there was no right hand. I stood outside the door and listened as Tohma attempted to add something, anything to his fumbling left hand to make it sound like music. It didn't. It sounded like a frustrated man playing half the notes to a piece with his injured weak hand. It stumbled and tripped over plodding chords, and you'd think it wasn't even a song. It got louder and louder as I sensed Tohma inside getting more and more disgusted with what was coming out. Finally, a weak, despairing cry emitting from inside the door, and the notes stopped. I held my breath.

After a moment of silence, harsh, chaotic sounds pounded forth, with no sense in them whatsoever. I stood agape.

This was not mild bitterness.

Tohma was beyond frustration now, positively laying into his perfect, beloved instrument with a frenzy I'd never imagined, and was glad I couldn't see. When the angry notes ceased, I heard the lid slam down. I cringed, remembering how lovingly he'd showcased the instrument to me not six days before.

I was contemplating going or staying, when suddenly, my cell phone vibrated. I hurried to the other end of the house before answering it.

"Hello?"

"Where is Seguchi-san?"

It was Sakano. "He's busy. What do you want?"

"We got the clear to resume touring, with Seguchi-san."

I paused for a moment, and then laughed at him. Heartily.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, we got the-"

"You're out of your fucking mind, Sakano," I said, cutting him off. "There's no way he'd ever be that stupid."

"He's already agreed to do it. I'm just calling to let you know the first date is a week and three days from now. Will you be making sure he, er… takes care of himself, until then? Physical therapy and everything?"

I snorted. "Sounds delightful," I said, and hung up. "God damn it… Tohma! _Tohma_!"

He emerged to meet me in the hallway. He looked entirely composed. "Yes, K-san?" he said in an especially quiet voice, to highlight the fact that I was shouting in his sacred domain. As if he hadn't just been raising demon spirits with his angry piano assault.

"What's this I hear about you playing with Nittle Grasper? Actually performing, in ten days?"

"Ten days?" he mused interestedly. "It sounds like you know more about it than I do. Although I believe "playing" may be putting it optimistically," he added, gesturing his right arm, still bandaged. "I understand quite a few adjustments are being made to allow for me."

"Tohma," I said. "You don't have to do this."

He looked me coolly in the eyes. "I disagree, K-san. We have a very small band, and the appearance on stage will reflect poorly on Nittle Grasper if there are only two members performing an entire leg of the tour."

I began to interrupt, to tell him he was talking bollocks, but he cut me off. "I may not be Sakama-san," he said, his tone softening upon the subject of his friend. "But as long as he thinks me an important part of Nittle Grasper, and as long as our paying fans expect it, I will perform to the best of my physical ability. Seeing as that's extremely limited, K-san, I don't think you have much to worry about."

"I'm not worried."

"Of course," Tohma nodded in agreement, and I wanted to knock him upside the head.

I refrained. "Everyone's going to be watching you. Closely."

He nodded. "I know. But we've been lying to the public about the severity of my accident ever since it happened. They think I'm okay, that I can still…." His voice trailed off, unwilling to vocalize how destroyed his talented hands were.

Just like that, my irritation melted. I picked up a new subject. "Word is you're supposed to be doing some sort of physical therapy."

He stopped and looked at me warningly. "You don't need to concern yourself with that."

"Sakano's orders."

He actually laughed at that, and I had to smile back. "You haven't been doing it? I can help you, you know."

"It's not your business. I'm not repeating myself again," he said, and started off. I didn't see what the big deal was letting me help him. I'd seen Tohma move about, both in everyday activities and on the stage. When keyboards weren't spitting fire at him, he fairly well epitomized suaveness, and could probably retain his natural grace while falling down a flight of stairs. I thought about harassing him a bit more, but recalled how I'd driven him to exasperation just a half hour earlier. The angry, rude notes. Instead, I went to resume where he'd left off in the kitchen. If I'd learned one thing, it was that Tohma needed me to let some things go.

Ten days and approximately fifteen heated arguments later, the man was fucking on stage.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, I know that was long overdue. BUT I have almost the entire next chapter finished already, so it will be up much much sooner than this one was. I also feel like I should apologize for not giving you much action (in any sense of the term) in this chapter. I felt I needed to set the tone of where their relationship is at this point, in preparation for the next two chapters. Like I said, the next chapter is almost entirely complete. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

The concert was back at the Crescent Center, as compensation for the fans who, three weeks ago, had received three hours of Bad Luck, instead of the main attraction. On the inside of the crowd bars and security, I stood less than ten meters away from Tohma's synthesizer, with several paramedics just in case. It was almost pitch black, and I held my breath as the three shadows took their places in the dark. The stage area, usually approaching a thrust setup, had been altered for the placement of Tohma, and I knew the lighting would be noticeably inefficient as well. Noriko would be in the shadows a bit too, so as not to draw attention to the fact that the fans weren't supposed to see Tohma clearly. Ryuichi would have the most spotlight he'd ever had.

An hour and a half earlier, we had been in the same situation which had started the whole mess. Sound check on this precise stage. Tohma had attended, as I knew he would, despite it being completely pointless. His output cords weren't plugged into anything. The usual wires were criss-crossed more carefully before, but in the end it wouldn't matter; Tohma had no power. He was there for show, to keep up an illusion for just a few more weeks, in the pretense that Nittle Grasper wasn't ultimately changed forever.

_Good luck, Tohma._

I knew it would be a successful ploy almost as soon as the lights sprung on and the introduction to the first song sounded out. Even from my nearby viewpoint, Tohma started out looking good as new. Bright lights shone from the floor and gave his face an artificially healthy-looking glow. A spot from behind him spasmed almost seizure-inducing flashes, making it seem like he was moving far more than I knew he really was, and blurring the details of his person. His actual instrument was kept unilluminated.

Noriko was getting the same treatment on the other side of the stage, and in the middle of everything was a particular spotlight on Ryuichi, bright enough to draw everyone's attention to him. We were putting on a regular lightshow. It was shameless, blatant, and as Tohma had lamented, costly.

"_Tooku de me o hikarasete mezameru monotachi matte iru-"_

It was also effective, and I could hear it from the fans behind me. They were screaming, crying, singing. Eyes mostly on Ryuichi, ears not discriminating enough to realize that Tohma's part was pulled directly from the studio recording. Of course, I knew that Tohma had his own dedicated following, and he'd be watched more closely than usual because of the recent publicity. So we'd put him on the audience's left side since his other arm was in a thin but staunchly inhibiting cast.

You'd never know. In addition to the precautions we'd taken, Tohma was silently giving the performance of a lifetime. His expression was intent, expressive, confident, the usual 'concert' look I'd seen over and over again on his face. He'd worn it so often, he could conjure it up when he had no music to offer. He kept his right arm carefully subjected to the pulsating white light behind it, and watched his left hand intensely. Pretending to "feel" the music as he used to do for real.

I kept my eyes mostly on him. He was wearing his black outfit with the ridiculous and flattering magenta highlights, and even kept on that hat. "I might need it," he'd said to me when I advised he leave it off for the concert. Only now, as I watched him step gingerly from one useless instrument to the other, did I fully understand why. He was going to get tired quickly; Ryuichi's energy was already leaving him in the dust. The hat, I predicted, wasn't just there tonight because of Tohma's unnatural attachment to it. It was to hide his face when he started to exhaust himself.

It wasn't an encouraging thought, and I was regretting letting him perform. As if I had any say in the first place. Only his convincing performance kept me in my place to the left of the stage, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the stubborn idiot behind his keyboard.

"_Setsunai iro ni somaru ore no kokoro iyashite kure-"_

Half-way through the performance, I realized something was slightly off. I'd expected Tohma to begin losing energy the moment the lights opened up on him, and he did, but then I gradually became aware of something else falling in his demeanor. It wasn't his concentration, or his careful posture. The illusion of playing was firmly upheld, even when it had to be apparent to the back row that he was completely exhausted. Even as his breathing became labored and sweat fell down the side of his face, he still looked like an active participant in the musical aspect of the production.

No, it was something else. The slightest furrow of his brow, even as he smiled into the black of the audience and winked across stage at Noriko. Something was bothering him. His savvy stage persona was still in full-blown effect, but I noted it becoming more and more staged. Tohma was struggling.

They had an outfit change coming up, and I hurried backstage to intercept Tohma. Ryuichi somehow always managed to wow the crowd with "Drive Me High," and after the last notes died I heard the three of them coming down from the stage. Some sort of filler took their place.

"Tohma," I said, as soon as I saw him. He glanced up at me, as a stage hand deftly pulled his jacket off his left arm. He shooed her away and gently tended to his right. Noriko was already changing as well, slipping out of her incredibly low-riding boy khakis and hiking up a short skirt over her panties. Ryuichi hadn't bothered yet, taking the opportunity to catch his breath and get a drink of water.

"What is it, K-san?" Tohma asked, unbuttoning his magenta dress shirt clumsily, with his "good" hand.

I tactfully averted my gaze, only to be met with the sight of Noriko stripping off her t-shirt. Jesus. Bad Luck's concert quickchanges had never seemed quite this intimate, but I guess they weren't quite the toned professionals that the members of Nittle Grasper were.

"K-san? What's wrong? Does it look okay out there?"

"Um, yeah," I stuttered, knowing he meant his little façade of a performance. I ventured a look back at Tohma. He was taking his cast off. "What are you doing?!"

"It's in my way," he said crossly. "It's too heavy." His arm, bare aside from a suffocated white wrapping about it, looked pathetic.

"You're going to hurt it," I said. The filler act was about half-way done, and I knew Tohma didn't really have time for this conversation. Ryuichi, also in a state of half-dress, seemed to be weighing the option of forgoing the top half of his next outfit altogether.

Tohma let out a harsh laugh as he carefully pulled on his shirt, a long-sleeved, collared black one. "My arm? Hurt it how, K-san? It's not like I'm actually using it."

"Tohma…"

"Did you come back here for a reason, K-san?"

I gave up. "Nothing, Tohma. You just looked tired, was all."

He nodded standoffishly, carefully pulling himself through the armholes of a light blue vest. "I am tired," he said. "It's rather taxing, having to _almost_ play my instrument with my _one_ hand."

"Thirty seconds, guys," someone called out.

I stopped Tohma as he followed Ryuichi back to the entranceway. Up close, I saw he really did look terrible. His entire face was a pale sheen, and now offstage, his eyes betrayed something I could only describe as misery. Their look floored me. "You don't have to finish," I said fervently.

"Finish what?" He tore himself from my grasp and straightened his vest. "I'm not _doing_ anything."

* * *

After that little exchange, watching Tohma finish the performance was more painful. He resumed his mask and made the movements and the crowd loved all three of them, but Tohma's eyes had shown me that this had not been a good idea. I could tell for certain now.

I knew Tohma, though he'd be completely spent, would last physically. He was in good shape, all things considered, and I could tell he had been completing his physical therapy recommendations after all. No, Tohma wouldn't collapse under the lights and movement. It was the façade itself that would wear him down.

Tohma's few singing parts had ended by now and the vocals were all Ryuichi's. But as I looked, I saw Tohma was still mouthing the words, singing into his headset, which he'd turned off. I squinted, but couldn't discern any difference in his movement or expression. To the casual observer, he was simply singing along. I, however, was not the casual observer. I may not have been Nittle Grasper's manager, but years working with Tohma had revealed to me most of his on-stage habits, and singing along with Ryuichi was most decidedly not one of them.

I sensed what he was doing, though. Some bands, some musicians have no qualms about recording their music and faking it live. Some groups consider it a regular occasion to fool the audience if they can. But Nittle Grasper wasn't that kind of band, and Tohma wasn't that kind of musician. It was _upsetting_ him. As a commodity to the masses he was willing to provide the moves and the illusion, but as an artist onstage, he wanted to connect in some way with the music. To connect inside, apart from the lights and the screams and the money that flows in and out.

And his instrument was lost. So he turned off his headset and, to keep his sanity for the last three songs, sang. It only got worse, though. Tohma seemed all too aware of the screams and shouts. Girls squealed at him and Ryuichi, aspiring young men cheered in admiration for Tohma's talents, and with every surge from the crowd Tohma seemed only to detach, unable to seek any refuge in the music while his hands could only ghost over silent keys. I saw disgust in his eyes as he looked down. Not at the instrument, but at his worthless, conning hands.

I wanted him off the stage. Off the damn stage and back home where he belonged. Even Tohma's outrageous ego couldn't handle much more of this. But the concert was over, and I wasn't about to motion to him in the middle of the final song, not even out of concern.

The second the last note of that encore played, however, I was all too ready to leave my position. Above on the stage, the three were doing their farewells to the crowd- Ryuichi with wild, enthusiastic gestures over his head, and Noriko with flirty little waves. Tohma had a habit of just smiling and bowing like he'd just completed a business transaction, and I supposed he had. As soon as they were off and the arena lights were lifted, I was on my way backstage.

I didn't see Tohma immediately with his bandmates, and this concerned me. Ryuichi almost always demanded a type of pow-wow, some sort of post-concert communion between members. I saw only the other two members. Noriko was teasing Ryuichi with a piece of women's underwear, which had probably been chucked onstage at him.

"Where is he?" I said.

Ryuichi was still mostly in concert mode, so I hoped I could extract a coherent answer from the man. He was holding a bottle of carbonated water. "Tohma's gone to get his clothes," he said, blushing and shoving the B-cups back at Noriko.

I left them, forgetting to congratulate Ryuichi on a successful concert, and found he was right. They each had their own dressing room, and the light in Tohma's was on. I didn't bother knocking.

It was lucky, then, that Tohma wasn't stripped down and fumbling around for his regular outfit in his boxer shorts. Instead, he was seated in a wooden chair in front of a mirror, still in his concert garb.

"Hey."

He turned around, startled, as I let myself in. "Why didn't you knock?"

"I did," I lied. "You sure got out of there in a hurry."

He looked as if he started to say something, but thought better of it and gave me one of his smiles- the nice, pleasant smiles that fooled most people into believing things were alright when they weren't. "It was just a bit loud, K-san. I needed a moment. I was just heading back out."

He was lying, and I didn't feel like humoring him. Tohma looked like a wreck, his face chalky and ill and his body trembling from adrenaline and exhaustion. He was sick, he looked like he was about to lose his dinner, and all the pretty smiles in the world couldn't convince me there was an ounce of sincerity behind his. I'd seen him, and he hadn't been smiling while he was singing to himself on the stage. "Are you going to try to do that again?" I asked.

"Do what?" he said.

"This," I answered, gesturing vaguely at him. "Pretending to perform. I saw you up there, you know."

For a moment, he faltered. "Of- of course I will. Our next concert is in three days."

"It looked hard."

He glanced uncomfortably to the side. "It's alright."

"Towards the end, there. You looked… tired."

"I'm fine, really-"

"Tohma, you looked like you hated yourself."

He was still. He didn't answer me, didn't look at me. The silence stretched between us, and when he finally lifted his eyes to mine, they were wet.

His voice cracked. "I think I do."

I froze. Tohma was crying. As I watched, horrified, tears gathered in Tohma's eyes and pooled out over his cheeks. They looked like little liquid smudges on porcelain and he closed his eyes, ashamed. Ashamed and pale.

"Tohma," I breathed, closing the door behind me.

He turned back away from me. But as he straightened forward in his seat, he was only met with the reflection of himself in the mirror, and simply hung his head into his good hand. In the mirror, I saw his eyes close tightly shut before his hat dipped down over his face.

I knelt on one knee beside him. He tensed, uncomfortable. I suspected the only reason he wasn't telling me to get the hell out was because he didn't trust his own voice. So much the better, because I wasn't going anywhere. I said his name again, even more softly, as I leaned forward to him.

He didn't push me away, or tell me to fuck off. As I took off his hat and gently brought his head down to my shoulder, a weak sob escaped him, and I knew he didn't have the energy right then to fight off the fact that I cared about him. I felt the muscles in his body give way, and he all but collapsed into me, the warm mass of his body falling against my chest. He was trembling in my arms. Seguchi Tohma, in my arms. Through his concert outfit and my dress shirt I could feel each hitching breath he took. Had he been less distracted, he would have felt my heart pounding inside my chest.

But he was oblivious, hurting on the inside where I couldn't help. It sounded like a long time coming.

Some people, when they need a good cry, screw up their faces and make unintelligible whining noises. Not Tohma. It was almost as if his pain took him beyond all that, and he cried with a quiet sort of exhaustion, both resigned and desperate in the face of what had happened to him. "I can't do this," he groaned. "You were right, K-san. I can't ….I can't do this again. You were right." Between us, his useless hand fell limp into his lap. A fresh wave of tears slid down his cheeks, and he rubbed at them.

"Shh," I said. Of course I had been right. It had been absurd for Tohma to think he could mock-play an entire concert, without feeling completely demoralized at the end of it. God, if I'd known it would finally be the thing to break him, I would have forbidden it outright. Somehow, I would have kept him from it. But now we were here, and the last thing on my mind was "I told you so." So I made another soothing sound and held him, pressing a hand against the back of his head.

He cried almost silently into the crook of my neck, and I felt the moisture of his tears dampen my shirt. "I can't do _anything_." He hiccoughed. "I can't- K-san, I haven't _got_ anything."

That hurt, in several ways.

I anxiously searched for something to say, but what was there? In two months he'd lost Mika, Yuki Eiri, ….and his music. I realized just how much more this new loss in Tohma's life hurt him, even more than his deteriorated friendships and relationships did. The music had been his release; everything in Tohma's fucked up life had hung delicately on his ability to pour himself into an outlet. What else, then, did he have? Not much it seemed, besides money and power, and the notion of telling Tohma that he had _me_ was unthinkable.

So I held him. I didn't know how long I sat with him, but I knew I could have sat longer if he wanted. When his body no longer shook and his quiet cries subsided, he pulled away from me, completely spent. Everything in me protested the removal of his weight against mine.

I could tell he had a headache by the way his eyes squinted and then drifted closed for a moment. When they re-opened, he wasn't looking at me. He'd managed to distance himself from me even more through his expression. I didn't like it.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "What are you thinking?"

Slowly, slowly, his eyes moved to my gaze. They weren't right, and it scared me. I'd seen him look at me that way once before, right after he'd received his diagnosis. Right before he'd proposed Aizawa-san's death sentence.

"I was thinking," he said absently, heedless of my anxiety, "that this has to be the lowest point in my life." He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if coming to the realization as he said it. His eyes glazed away from mine. "That I just performed in front of twenty thousand people, and they couldn't hear me because I can't play." He was withdrawing further inward, his voice almost dreamlike. "I was thinking, that this must be what he wanted all along. Aizawa-san. And that maybe he was right, and I'll throw _myself_ into moving traffic."

My stomach dropped. He said it, just like that. Perfectly seriously, like it just occurred to him.

"Tohma…"

Tohma's eyes still had that strange, wandering look. He didn't answer. It was like he'd drifted somewhere else entirely, somewhere I wasn't.

I wanted him back. "_Tohma_."

He didn't even seem to notice me. I felt like I was breaking into pieces with him. All at once, I wanted to do a million things and nothing; I wanted to cry, to yell, to embrace and to kiss him.

Still nothing.

Instead, I slapped him. Hard.

Harder than I meant to, and Tohma was nearly knocked off-balance. He didn't cry out, didn't shout. My hand stung, and immediately a red splotch appeared on his cheek as he held a hand up to it, stunned.

I was breathing slightly heavily. "Say that again," I said.

He looked at me. "What?" he said.

His voice had cleared. As he stared at me, shocked, his eyes were no longer clouded. Surprised, hurt, but at least he'd emerged from that haunting state I had seen two times too many. I relaxed, but only a little. When I spoke, I was surprised myself at how dangerously low my voice was, how dangerously slow. "Tohma. Did you mean that?"

He opened his mouth and closed it, probably assessing how to avoid being hit again. "No," he said at last, tensing his body in case he needed to defend himself. I'd scared him.

"Tohma," I said, hesitantly and as unthreateningly as possible, "you're not okay."

Tohma hung his head. His bangs fell over his aquamarine eyes, but the bright red spot was still visible on his cheek. I looked away guiltily.

"You shouldn't hit people who can't hit you back," he said to the floor.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. I am. But God, Tohma, you scared the shit out of me. What was I supposed to do?"

He nodded, but still wouldn't look at me. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean it. It would leave you with too much to do at the office."

He smiled weakly at me, to let me know it was a joke. I made myself laugh, for his sake. Grasping his left forearm, I stood up, gently pulling him with me. "Come on. Let's go home."

The memory of what he'd said would haunt me for weeks. I knew it would, too, but I had to trust him. And for now I only wanted him at home, asleep.

Tohma nodded weakly and searched about for his clothes, and as he gathered them up I got another good look at his concert outfit. It was flattering on him, the stark contrast of the dark suit and light blue vest fitting well against his form. As he struggled one-handedly with the third button to his vest, I instinctively stole a glance at the top of his chest, just visible underneath his black dress shirt.

I froze.

_Bad_. Bad, bad bad.

Tohma pulled at the back hem of his vest, awkwardly trying to slip it off his arms. He'd replaced his cast over his arm, and it was giving him trouble as he attempted to change shirts. "Are you ready to go?" he said.

I snapped back to attention. "Y-yeah."

"Can you help me, then?" he said exasperatedly, as if he shouldn't have had to ask.

I helped him peel out of his vest. Turning slightly away from me, he tackled his top dress shirt button, and failed. Even his left hand was still clumsy and sore. He hesitated a moment, and finally looked at me expectantly. Brilliant. I undid each button as if it burned me. Helping him painstakingly slip out of his shirt, his entire torso and back were revealed to me. I realized suddenly I hadn't seen those scars before. He'd always had the energy and patience to dress himself, so I'd never seen the dark red skin, now in the process of healing over itself. The damaged skin melted into the healthy skin on his left side, like a restless sea tide encroaching over a perfect sand beach.

"Quit gawking at my burns," he ordered, pulling a much larger, looser shirt over his head.

"Tohma…" I said. "Don't those hurt?"

"Not all the time."

I watched him gather his things together. "What about when you sleep? Do you ever roll onto your right side?"

He shoved his concert jackets into a bag. "Every night," he answered matter-of-factly. "Can we leave?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Wow, this chapter was long and angsty as hell. They say you have to tear your hero down to rock bottom before pulling him back up. ;-) Anyway, this was hard to write for some reason… I had difficulty trying to get it all to work. I'm not totally satisfied with it, so I may tamper with it more in the future. Until then, I hope you liked it! I also hope I didn't lose readers by waiting so long to make the slash more prominent, but I promise it's more heavily featured starting… nnnnow. Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**Author's Notes: **This is likely my second-to-last chapter. Odds are, chapter ten will be the final one. I'm a little sad, but a little Thank-God about it. I've been very impatient to write the last scenes, so it's exciting that they're so close. But first, le chapter de ninth!

* * *

It was a silent ride home, predominantly because Tohma fell asleep as soon as he lowered himself into the seat. Shutting the door on my side of the automobile, I glanced over to see him passed out against his, his head slumped over his shoulder. 

"Seat belt, Tohma," I said loudly. "We're going on the highway."

Nothing. Well, if another tragedy befell Tohma and our car wrecked, I wasn't going to be responsible for him being sent flying through a window. I leaned over and with some difficulty, buckled him in.

He didn't stir until I jostled him awake in the driveway. At home, Tohma's home that is, I wanted to just get him to bed, but he insisted on taking a shower, padding up the stairs after what had to have been one of the worst days of his life. He'd barely said one word to me since leaving the concert arena, and I felt bad. I felt bad that the concert had been such a success, that Tohma saw it as such a failure. That I'd actually laid a hand on him, and he hadn't hit me back. And it ate at me, that a barrier had fallen between us, and he didn't know what to do now that I'd seen him on the other side. That somewhere in the Japanese language, there existed the precise words that he needed to hear, and I hadn't a clue what they were. Tohma was upstairs in the shower, gingerly holding his arm away from the water which he'd probably turned on scalding hot. I felt bad that I was downstairs imagining it.

It was all wrong. I shook my thoughts clear and decided to wait until he got out. Twenty minutes later, after I heard the water upstairs shut off, I went up to his room to check on him.

He was in bed, kind of. From his appearance, I didn't think he even bothered to towel off when he got out of the shower. He'd just pulled on some drawstring pants and collapsed into his mattress with the lights on. I found him completely unconscious, little drops of shower water still falling from his hair onto his sheets. Beneath him, his bed was completely made.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, contemplating my next course of action. It probably took Tohma a while to make his bed each morning, pulling his sheets taut and tucking them into place with one hand. Maybe Tohma slept on top of his mattress cover to save the time and effort. It was a distinct possibility, I told myself. Even more importantly, if I tried to situate Tohma, he could wake up. The notion of Tohma stirring to see me positioning him about in his own bed was harrowing, and I shuddered to consider the results.

But something kept me from flipping off the lights and tromping downstairs to get some well-deserved rest myself. He just looked… vulnerable. Exposed in nearly every meaning of the word. He hadn't even re-wrapped his own arm, and it rested precariously next to his face as he rolled onto his side. And at the risk of sounding motherly, what if on top of everything he got sick again? It was cold, and here he was. Sprawled out, half-naked and dripping wet.

I froze as the thought completed itself in my head.

The little bastard was half-naked and wet in his bed. Damn it all to hell. I felt warm, in spite of myself. It was uncomfortable, because I knew the feeling should have been off-limits to me. "Tohma" and "warmth" should have nothing to do with each other. He slumbered on, oblivious to the overhead light and the cold air and me gaping at him as if I'd never seen a lithe body draped across a bed before. He slept on his left side, turned away from the small dip where I imagined Mika used to lie. But that was then, before just about everything had gone wrong. Now he was facing me, and I was watching him.

Enough. If Tohma rolled over onto his right side during the night and hurt himself badly, I'd hear him yell from downstairs. I swatted the light off on my way out, deciding that a cold shower was in order. It might be a long night.

* * *

"K-san, I'd like for you to stay here today." 

Funny how a handful of words, casually said, can make your heart leap for joy. On the inside. On the outside, I played it cool. I hadn't had the first intention of leaving Tohma alone after the concert last night, but if we were at the point where Tohma would willingly ask something like that of me, I was going to milk the situation for what it was worth. And it was worth quite a bit.

So I grabbed the cereal as if what he'd said hadn't made my day. Or my week. "I think Sakano had some stuff he wanted to talk to me about at the studio today," I lied. "I'd better go in at least for a few hours." I started rummaging through a drawer for a spoon. Tohma may not have had any food before I came along, but he certainly had some nice silverware.

Tohma frowned and sat at the table beside me. As soon as he came downstairs I'd noted, with no small feeling of disappointment, that he'd thrown on some more presentable clothes since last night. But the tousled hair, which had dried in nearly every direction, almost made up for it. Almost. Even with several fewer hours of sleep than he'd had- disconcerting thoughts can keep you up half the night if you're not careful- I still had risen before him. So I was perfectly alert as I surveyed him. Discreetly. His arm still hadn't been re-wrapped. He was lucky he hadn't woken up in intense pain during the night.

My entire mental discourse was undermining the fact that Tohma was trying to speak to me.

"What?" I said, coming back to reality just in time to realize I was overflowing my bowl with milk.

"I _said_, you're not to go in today. You're to stay here."

"I just told you Sakano'll be waiting for me," I said, with my mouth full. "And who're you to tell me not to go to my own workplace?"

He gave me an are-you-serious look. "If you show up at NG today, you're fired."

I rolled my eyes, but didn't put the rash act past him. "I'm just kidding, Tohma. Jeez. Don't worry, I'm not going to leave you alone."

Something in my voice must have betrayed an ounce of sincerity, because Tohma's eyes widened slightly before he resumed his usual mask. "I need you to drive me somewhere," he said.

"Okay. Why don't you eat something first?" I asked.

"I'm alright. Thanks for offering, though."

I nodded and started to tell him he was welcome. Then it dawned on me that he was being sarcastic because this was _his_ house, and Tohma rested his chin in his left palm as if amused by my expression.

"Ass," I muttered, but noted that he was putting pressure, however light, on his hand. Pressure without cringing was good. One hand, at least, was getting back to normal. "Where do you need to go, anyway?" I asked, jabbing at my cereal with my spoon.

"I have an appointment with a physical trainer. A specialist."

That certainly got my attention. I set the spoon down. "Specialist in what?"

"Bullet wounds," he said dully, looking at me as if I were the biggest idiot in the world. "What do you think, K-san?" he asked, gesturing to his right arm.

"Your burns? Don't you already have physical therapy instructions from the hospital?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Yes," he admitted, picking at his sleeve. "But they're not enough. They don't …they don't push me."

"They're not supposed to."

Tohma didn't answer at first. His face was grave. "I've got to hope that they gave me such moderate physical therapy because they don't want to be responsible if it causes any more irrevocable damage. Not because they think I can't do it." He shook his head almost disbelievingly. "Or else, I've got to hope they've underestimated me, badly. Don't you remember what they told me at the hospital? That I might _barely_ recover functionality, and that's supposed to be over the course of the rest of my life."

Then he stood up and looked at me, hard. It was impossible to look away from the intensity in those eyes, and almost impossible not to. "I'm not interested in recovering 'forty percent dexterity,' K-san. And I certainly can't wait my whole life to do it." Tohma held up his arms- one lightly scarred but healing, the other still charred, darkened and branded by the necrosis and its treatment. My stomach twisted, and I wished he'd wrapped it before coming down. "These…things, whatever they're worth now, are still my life," he continued. "Without my hands, I'm nothing but a business figurehead and a nice office and money left over from when I _used_ to be great. And I can't… I can't be just that. I know I could quit Nittle Grasper. Hire a right hand around the office and stay put. I could retire today and financially live in comfort for the rest of my life. I could, but I _can't, _K-san. I know that now. These therapy instructions aren't enough. I can feel my hand _rotting_. I have no interest in playing it safe, if that means never playing the piano again. I'm too good to leave it, and I love it too much. I _will_ play."

Seeing the fire clash with the blue of Tohma's eyes, it didn't occur to me once to advise him against whatever plans he was making. His gaze brooked no refusal. I knew the risk in deviating from hospital recommendations, but I was fully on board if it kept Tohma safely from the despair that had taken him last night. Something in Tohma had changed; he'd changed something himself. His voice was still tired, his form weak. He held his withered arm protectively against his stomach, and he looked thin and pale. But somehow through all this, his eyes were strong and in that moment I believed him capable of moving aside a mountain if it so much as got in his way.

As for me, I was gone. So far gone on that man, and it couldn't be helped.

* * *

The appointment was in the afternoon. The directions Tohma gave me led us to a twenty-story hotel. After spotting it through the windshield, I checked the address again and cocked an eyebrow at Tohma. He looked unruffled. 

"Don't look so surprised," he said. "I told you he was a specialist. He just happens to also be from America. Philadelphia, actually. "

My jaw dropped. "Are you telling me you paid a physical therapist to fly in from the other side of the world, _just_ to treat you?"

Tohma looked genuinely confused. "You say that as if I'm not worth it. He's the best I could find, and if he had to leave his home for a few months to accommodate me, it can't be helped. No one forced him, and it's not like he's not being paid."

"How much?"

Tohma unbuckled himself as I parked. "Aside from his housing, I'm giving him thirty-thousand American dollars upfront. If my condition allows it and he's as effective as he's reputed to be, he'll be paid monthly as I recover. I assure you, just because he's an American doesn't mean he's being taken advantage of."

I didn't know why I'd expected anything less.

The specialist was waiting for us in the lobby of the hotel. Tohma seemed to recognize his face, and pointed him out to me at the same time as the man seemed to notice Tohma and begin walking across the foyer towards us. I didn't like the look of him. He was well-dressed, with a tall stature and gel in his hair. He looked clearly American, even without the distinctly Aryan features I had. He mouth drew back to smile at Tohma, and we were blinded by about a million white teeth.

"Mr. Tohma!" he exuberated in English. I cringed. Not knowing Japanese was one thing, but not knowing how to address a Japanese man was slightly different.

Tohma faltered, but recovered. "Good afternoon," he said, nearly bowing before catching himself. It was fairly clear this man wasn't familiar with any such formality. I could tell Tohma was uncomfortable. His English was good and part of his business training had taught him to shake hands with an American, but this was no business associate. This was a private physician, and Tohma wasn't sure how to deal with him.

The man scarcely acknowledged my presence before cheerfully taking Tohma up to his room, me following with my hands jammed into my pockets. Once inside, I could understand why he was so thrilled to meet Tohma. The man had been set up well, the hotel room as large as the apartment space I'd lived in for most of my life.

"Now, I believe we'll treat this as a sort of preliminary assessment," he said to Tohma, shutting the door behind us. "Some treatment materials are only available in rehabilitation facilities, so I trust you have means to gain access to those?"

Tohma nodded. "Of course."

I folded my arms and leaned against the door. The man- I realized now I hadn't even caught his name- produced a pair of glasses from his jacket and put them on. He had a nametag- Jeremy Lawson. "Good. Now, to begin with, go ahead and take off your shirt." Tohma did as he was told, with me keeping a close eye on the American the whole time. He looked a couple years younger than I was, I decided, which put him a couple years ahead of Tohma.

Tohma was fumbling with the buttons to his loose dress shirt, and nearly yelped as the specialist reached forward to help him. I started, ready to swat him away, before controlling myself. Tohma wouldn't have allowed it. So I gritted my teeth, and I think Tohma probably did as well, as the man carefully pulled the sleeve off of Tohma's left arm. Tohma was tense, not thrilled with the man's helpfulness but not willing to make a scene.

Jeremy Lawson stood back with his hands on his hips, and he surveyed the scars as Tohma began undoing the wrap that began half-way up his right arm. Just under his shoulder, the white material fell away, revealing skin that was discolored, but smooth.

"Ah, well that doesn't look that…oh." Lawson's voice trailed off as the wrap spiraled loose from Tohma's forearm, revealing the full extent of the burn. Tohma bundled the material in his left hand and stood shirtless, looking to see the specialist's reaction.

He moved forward, scrutinizing Tohma's arms and torso. The extremity of Tohma's right arm faded into slight scarring over part of his torso, and then darkened again over his left arm. "May I?" he asked, without looking to Tohma's face for a response before gently taking Tohma's left arm in his hand. I fidgeted, but told myself this was only reasonable. The man was a doctor. I couldn't help but do a double-take, however, when the man's hands then pressed to Tohma's chest, testing the skin.

Tohma drew a quick breath. "Those are mostly healed," he said quietly, taking a step back under the man's furrowed gaze.

"Yes, they are," he agreed, giving Tohma one more quick glance-over. "And I'm afraid to even touch your right arm; you certainly didn't exaggerate when I spoke to you on the phone. And the damage to your legs, Mr. Tohma?"

"Hardly anything," Tohma answered quickly. "It hasn't been giving me any trouble. It's really just my arm I'd like you to-"

Lawson laughed. "Sir, I understand you're a musician."

Tohma blinked at him.

"And I gather your anxiety over your hands. They're your tools. But as a doctor, I see the human body as one entity. The body doesn't heal limb by limb. It heals itself as a whole. I saw your medical report, and you sustained mild burns to your legs. If you don't mind, Mr. Tohma. I'd like to see them." I knew as soon as the man opened his mouth, Tohma wasn't going to push it any further. The man was 99 percent professionalism, and if a thirty-thousand dollar physical therapist told him his pants had to go, I knew they would. But I didn't have to like it.

Well, at least the circumstances. For a moment my eyes were as stuck on Tohma as Lawson's were, and I'm sure Tohma would have been doubly discomforted had he known he had an audience from both sides. I'd always known Tohma was physically fit, major burns aside, and anyone could tell he had a nicely-shaped body. But seeing him strip down for examination was something else altogether. It felt wrong, ogling an injured man as if he were on display for my benefit and not because he was in serious emotional and physical pain. But there you have it.

The only scarring on Tohma's legs that were still traceable were on his right side, and Lawson knelt over as if they were worth examining. I knew they weren't, and something told me he did too. Tohma's legs were fine. He still copped a feel for good measure, pressing his fingers lightly against the minimal scarring on Tohma's thigh as if to test the strength of the healing skin. I looked to Tohma's face, and wondered how much of this he was going to take.

Tohma didn't seem nearly as perturbed as I was. Just exasperated. "Sir, could you please focus?" he said, almost sharply but not quite.

Jeremy Lawson straightened. "Did you complete my questionnaire?" he asked, grabbing a pen from a table.

Tohma didn't answer until he had pulled his pants back on, and then retrieved his jacket, producing an envelope from its pocket.

"Good." Lawson took it and read over it the pages for a moment, with Tohma still topless in front of him, and me still in the background, irritated. At length, he nodded, folding up the pages. "I believe I can help you, Mr. Tohma. As you say, your legs and torso are fine. A few more days should be all they need, just like the hospital told you. Your left hand is healing on its own, too. Any standard therapy exercises you've been given should suffice in helping it along. But your right…"

Tohma looked anxious. And cold, but mostly anxious. Lawson shook his head, gazing at Tohma's discolored arm. "You say all you want is to play again. I'm not convinced it's as impossible as they've told you."

I realized Tohma was holding his breath.

"I'm issuing you a pressure garment to wear for a few weeks. After that, I'd like you to come back, or meet me at a rehabilitation center. You've done an excellent job keeping it exercised and uninfected. You've done everything right in the past month. With the proper resources, I think you could recover most of its functionality in two years."

* * *

I slammed the door before turning on the ignition. "I don't like him," I said. 

Tohma looked at me incredulously. "Did you hear him?" he said. "He said I could get _better_."

"Of course he did," I snapped. "You're paying him more than I make in a year."

"First of all, no I'm not," Tohma answered calmly, looking out the window at the surrounding buildings. "And secondly, he only gets paid beyond today if I make progress."

I backed out of the parking spot. "Did you not notice he had his hands on you?"

"K-san, he's a physician."

"He was checking you _out_."

Damn, that sounded just a little too indignant. I kept my eyes pointedly ahead, but felt Tohma turn to look at me. "K-san?"

My mind raced for a way out of this. "Forget it," I said haughtily.

After a moment of silence, I spoke again. "Anyway, if you're set on keeping him, I'm glad he can help. I …" I hesitated, and my voice softened. "I know how important it is to you."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tohma's face fall into a smile. A real one. I steeled myself and focused on not swerving into a tree. "Thank you," he said simply, and leaned back against his headrest. "And I know I'm lucky, if what he says is true. It's just that…"

"Just that what?" I asked, stealing a glance at him before turning back to the road.

He sighed. "I don't know. Just that so much can happen in two years. Nittle Grasper might break up."

"You know they won't," I assured him. "Ryuichi would never allow that, and it's still entirely in your power to keep Nittle Grasper alive, whether you're performing or not."

He seemed to think this over. "Well," he said, "in the next two years, you might go back to America."

My heart jumped up into my throat.

"And then where would I be at the office?" he finished.

I deflated. "I'm not going anywhere," I grumbled. Fucking tease.

He was silent for a few moments, before I heard his voice again. "In two years, I could lose my mind."

I looked sharply to him. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as if he were upset. Of course he was. Taking away Tohma's piano for two years would be like taking away anyone else's most treasured loved one. When Tohma opened his eyes again, they were dull. "I suppose NG will keep me busy enough," he said.

I sighed. "If that's your attempt at optimism, it's pretty pathetic," I told him. "Why don't you try to play again? I haven't heard anything in almost two weeks."

"What, the day Sakano called?" Tohma asked. "Did you hear me?"

"Hear you launch a royal blitzkrieg against your piano?" I said. "No."

He laughed. "That happens almost every day," he said.

My surprise must have shown in my face, because he nodded. "I wait until you go to the studio, and then I try to play. If I don't learn to control my temper with it, it's going to need re-tuning very soon." Then his voice softened, more serious. "It's always the same, K-san. It sounds terrible. _I_ sound terrible, and I compromise the quality of my instrument. And the pieces, I destroy them as soon as I touch the keys. I've desecrated some of my favorite music, just trying to get my damn fingers to play the notes." He flexed his right hand into a fist, and relaxed it. "I've tried to re-arrange my songs, make them slower, easier. But I don't have the patience." He gave me a sad smile as we pulled into his driveway. "It hurts too much, to tamper with a song that used to sound perfect."

I gazed at him, the motor still running. I couldn't help it. On the rare occasions that Tohma chose to open up any human feelings to my confidence, he never failed to captivate me. Tohma looked away from me and pulled at his door handle, not inviting any more discussion. I suspected he didn't know just how tightly I clung to his words; he spoke them to me as if he spoke them to the air, and I just happened to be there. He spoke them as if he simply needed to say them out loud, and if I had no response or insight, well, he'd hardly expected anything more. As if he still didn't see just how much I cared about him now, and just how much his pain hurt _me_.

So when he sighed and went inside, he didn't realize that I sat in the car for another hour with the motor on, thinking.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Whoohooo, I feel like I'm almost done. I'm particularly proud of that first conversation in this chapter. If anyone out there is pissed at me because they just read 4,000 more words and got no kisses out of it… all I can say is that I hope you're patient and come back for the next chapter. (Well, I guess I COULD also tell you that there's a much more instant-gratification K/Tohma fic entitled "Taking Care Of" available in my profile, but surely I wouldn't be that big of a whore.) So, please review, and I'll see you soon! 


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**Author's Notes: **Apparently I lied when I said this thing was only going to be ten chapters long. Basically, the concepts behind this next segment were supposed to be the first fourth or so of the final chapter, but then I realized to do them justice, I'd have to give them more space. So, here you go.

* * *

Ryuichi showed up a couple weeks later. Tohma scolded him on the phone for taking time off of rehearsal, and Tohma would almost certainly have a headache within an hour, but would never in a million years send Ryuichi away. I knew this as well as he did, so when I heard the singer was coming over, I had every good intention of backing off and letting him have Tohma for the day. 

As soon as Tohma opened the door to see him in, though, Ryuichi's owlish eyes widened at the sight of his friend, and he latched onto Tohma's arm. "Poor Tohma-chan!" he moaned, and shot me a disapproving look. "Tohma-chan is losing weight every day. And look how sad he is! You should look after him better, K-san!"

That irritated me more than it should have. What did Ryuichi know about Tohma's grief, when it was me who'd been taking care of him all this time? And more, it was obvious Tohma hadn't lost any weight; Ryuichi clearly just wanted to fuss over his friend. If it had been anyone else in the world, I would have called him out. But it was impossible to speak harshly to Ryuichi and besides, Tohma was gauging my reaction.

So I made a flippant gesture and scoffed. "If you want to take him off my hands, you're more than welcome to," I said to Ryuichi, but kept an eye on him the rest of the afternoon to make sure he didn't try.

Ryuichi dragged him off to the other end of the house, announcing that he would require paper and "art utensils." Of course Tohma catered to his every need, and endured his shouting, laughing, and singing admirably. I hung around, watching Tohma watch Ryuichi draw, a tired but fond smile forming on Tohma's lips as his friend - his best friend – chattered senselessly and colored from the floor, constantly seeking Tohma's praise for his work.

"I wanted to come yesterday, but Noriko-chan said we had to finish- Is this good, Tohma-chan?"

"That looks very good," came Tohma's gentle reply.

"Finish whatever we were doing, I forget what it was, but it was important, just like that time at the place when it was raining really hard, remember?"

Tohma smiled. Just listening to him had to be enough to make Tohma dizzy, but he didn't show it. "We've been a lot of places, a lot of times, Ryuichi, when it was raining."

Ryuichi was concentrating hard on his picture. "But this was that _place_, remember?"

Watching the two of them together, I felt the tiniest sensation of envy creep over me. That history, that connection wasn't just a soft spot Tohma held for the singer. Tohma's eyes softened around Ryuichi. And he smiled, not because he had to or because he wanted something, but because Ryuichi was special.

"Why don't you color?" he asked Tohma, peering up at him expectantly.

"I don't think my picture would be very good," Tohma said.

"But you're a good drawer!"

Tohma sighed. "I haven't been feeling very artistic lately, Ryuichi."

Ryuichi turned his giant eyes towards him, and I detected a slight change in them. "Why don't you play for me?"

Tohma averted his eyes from his friend's gaze. He seemed unaware that I was watching him closely as well, from the doorway. "Maybe later," he said to Ryuichi, hugging his arm to his body as if it were in danger.

Ryuichi the child was gone. For a moment, he was replaced by a man- a coherent friend. Ryuichi placed a hand on Tohma's knee and looked into his eyes. "When was the last time you tried?" he asked.

Tohma didn't respond. It had been weeks, and I knew it. Tohma approached his physical therapy with an almost religious zeal, but the cacophonic sounds that came out of the piano when he tried to play had worn him down, pounding at his emotional stamina harder than he could pound into the keys. But Tohma still longed for the instrument. I could see it in his eyes whenever the house was quiet. The silence deafened him.

Tohma didn't look at Ryuichi, didn't look at me. I felt separated from him. Ryuichi watched him for a moment, and then dropped it, just like that. He picked up his picture and displayed it proudly. "Do you know what this is, Tohma-chan?"

Tohma squatted next to him, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked at the paper carefully. "Is it us?"

Ryuichi nearly squealed with delight. I had about had my daily quota of "cute," and rolled my eyes as I let myself fall into a sofa across the room. It was going to be a long afternoon.

"How did you know?" Ryuichi asked.

"Well," Tohma answered, "This person has blond hair, like me."

"It could have been K-san."

Tohma smiled up at me, like one parent would to another after a small child had just said something endearing. "K-san's hair is much longer than mine," he said to Ryuichi.

"It could have been Yuki Eiri."

My eyes snapped back to Tohma, who shook his head. "But his friend has brown hair, like yours," he said, more quietly. "If it were Yuki Eiri, his friend's hair would be a different color."

Ryuichi thought for a moment. "Pink? Like Shuichi-kun's?"

Tohma didn't answer. I was ready for Ryuichi to leave. But until he had somewhere else to be or Tohma gave the word, I knew it was out of my hands. Ryuichi left the room, bounding past me with his masterpiece held high above his head. Tohma began gathering up the remnants of Ryuichi's work area.

"Is he giving you a headache?" I asked.

Tohma smiled that smile I hated so much. "It's alright, K-san."

"I'll send him home if you want me to," I offered.

"You'll do nothing of the sort."

That's what got me. It wasn't just tolerance or affection; Tohma loved Ryuichi in a way, and actually seemed to enjoy of his company. It was as if the headache was a small price to pay.

Ryuichi's voice reached us from outside. "Tohma, there're no magnets on your refrigerator!"

If_ I_ ever gave Tohma a headache, I'd probably risk being sent back to America.

Ryuichi left eventually, promising to come again soon. Before leaving, almost as an afterthought, he produced a pencil and made a last-second addition to the scribbles on his picture, which he presented to Tohma. Now there was a piano, crudely drawn and barely recognizable, next to the blond figure. "Remember, this is you, Tohma-chan!" he said as he bounced outside, leaving the door open behind him. Tohma was genuinely sorry to see him go, and I felt inadequate once he'd gone. I knew it was a good thing that they were close, good that they had a healthy friendship after all these years. It had been ridiculous of me to be jealous of that friendship.

And that twinge of envy turned out to be nothing compared to what I felt when Yuki Eiri called.

* * *

"Hello?" 

I still answered telephones in English. There were a couple American habits I almost always lapsed into, and answering callers in my native language was one of them. So when the line was silent in response, I caught myself, mumbled an apology, and repeated the greeting in Japanese.

"You're _still_ there?" came the greeting back.

I paused. "Who is this?" I demanded.

"Yuki Eiri," said the flat voice, irritated.

My stomach dropped.

Fuck.

Of all the people who could possibly destroy whatever was left of Tohma, it was Yuki Eiri. I'd been so busy, so _happy_ playing house, I'd all but forgotten. Mika, I wasn't worried about. Had she appeared one day and demanded Tohma back, I probably would have laughed at her. Aizawa Taki, I could handle just as well. Hell, he could show up demanding a duel for Tohma's life, and it could help my case with the keyboardist. But Yuki Eiri was different. It was common knowledge that where Yuki Eiri was concerned, Tohma pretty much had no sense of… anything.

"I need to talk to Tohma. Put him on." Why that man always sounded dissatisfied with the whole world and everyone in it, I never could tell. All I knew was, if this conversation couldn't be prevented, and I knew it couldn't, it should at least be monitored.

"Tohma!" I yelled, not bothering to cover the speaker on the phone. I hoped I busted Yuki Eiri's eardrum on the other end. "Phone!"

I was in a living area downstairs, seated in an armchair, and I knew Tohma would pick up from somewhere else. I considered staying on the line. They probably wouldn't notice, so long as I was careful when I did hang up. Hopefully.

"Yes?" That was Tohma, picking up. I held my speaker to the base and pressed half-way down on the receiver, quickly and loudly. Loudly enough to make a convincing _click_, but not hard enough to actually lose connection.

"Tohma." The man didn't sound so pissed, now that he was talking to Tohma and not me.

"Eiri-san!" Tohma sounded surprised, and I immediately began to analyze what kind of "_Eiri-san_" that was. It was difficult to tell.

"The brat was wondering how you were," Yuki Eiri mumbled.

"Oh," Tohma's voice answered after a brief pause. "That was very considerate of him. You can tell him I'm doing well."

"Are you?" Yuki Eiri's low, smooth voice contrasted heavily with the light tones of Tohma's. His voice was disinterested, but the question itself indicated otherwise. I should have done some research on the history between these two.

"Yes." Tohma's voice bordered on indignant. They were both silent for a moment.

"Have you been playing?"

"No, I can't."

"I heard you performed with Nittle Grasper well enough."

"Performed, not played." Tohma sounded tired. "My fingers barely work individually, Eiri-san. When I play, the whole right part sounds like it's being shredded to pieces."

I cringed. I half-way expected some expression of sympathy, but then remembered who Tohma was talking to. Yuki Eiri chose that moment to reveal his real reason for calling. "We're going to Germany soon. I … told Shuichi I'd let you know so you can plan accordingly at NG."

A pause. "Germany?"

"You know what I mean, Tohma. For the… union." He practically grumbled the word, and it was hard to imagine this man as a romance novelist.

I remembered Tohma's face when he'd heard about the plans, months ago. My heart was racing, even before I realized that a little part of my life hung on Tohma's response now. I held my breath waiting for it. It didn't come for several moments.

"I… No. Don't do that, Eiri-san."

Tohma's voice was so serious, and my head reeled. After all this time… If Tohma was still clinging to whatever he'd wanted in Yuki Eiri, I wasn't sure I could take it.

"I wasn't asking your permission." Yuki Eiri's voice sounded agitated, as if Tohma's devotion to him was an unfortunate inconvenience. I wanted to strangle him.

"I didn't say you needed it," Tohma snapped. "But I can't agree to this. It won't do either of you any good." From my side of the line, I struggled not to make any noise. I wanted to yell, to ship Yuki Eiri to Germany for good and shake some sense into Tohma's head.

"Won't do _us_ any good?" Yuki Eiri hissed. "Or won't do _you_ any good?"

"Neither," Tohma answered. "You'd be much better off taking him to America."

Silence.

My breath caught. What did he say?

"America?"

"Yes," Tohma said matter-of-factly. "There's nothing _for_ you in Germany, Eiri-san, nor for Shindou-kun. Go to America for the civil union. Bad Luck needs the publicity over there, and Germany's worthless to them."

Oh God. I breathed again. A silence followed on the line, but I wouldn't have focused on anything that was said after that anyway. Tohma wasn't falling apart, or groveling, or professing his love where it didn't belong. He just wanted to score some media attention, in typical Tohma fashion. I felt like laughing, or throwing the phone up into the air.

Yuki Eiri still hadn't responded. Tohma's voice came again. "And it couldn't hurt your sales either, you know." Every word was music to my ears. I wanted to give him a good, comradely clap on the back. But then, a tirade bombarded our ears. Oh, Yuki Eiri was angry at the whole idea, and a slew of curses were snarled at Tohma because Tohma was a royal prick and this wasn't a fucking _business_ move, and how could Tohma stand himself, being such a corporate robot?

"It was just a suggestion," Tohma said, sounding genuinely taken aback. I nearly laughed.

"We don't _want_ to go to America."

"Alright, that's fine." Tohma tried to speak in a pacifying tone. "Germany's fine, it's-"

"If we _wanted_ to go to America, we'd-"

"Eiri-san?" Tohma cut in quickly. "I think K-san is calling for me. I should go."

I smiled to myself. When Yuki Eiri spoke again, he sounded suspicious. "He's been at your house for a while." Damn it.

Tohma's voice faltered when he answered. "I'm greatly indebted to K-san," he said defensively. "He was helping me, after the accident."

"And you still need him there?"

Tohma didn't answer at first. Then he said, slowly, "Most of my burns are healing alright, if that's what you mean."

"So no."

A little part of me wanted Tohma's answer, too. No, that's an understatement. I wouldn't have put down the phone for a million dollars. When he spoke, he sounded flustered. "I suppose I could function for the most part without him, yes," he finally said testily. "But he's… he's quite helpful."

Helpful? That could mean anything. That could be helpful as in couldn't-live-without-him-in-my-time-of-need, or helpful as in handy-when-I-can't-open-the-pickle-jar. I waited for more, but there was nothing; Tohma didn't offer any other thoughts and Yuki Eiri wasn't emotionally invested enough in anyone but himself to ask many questions.

The conversation ended shortly after that. When they got off the line, I was careful not to hang up before either of them. For a while I sat in that spot by the phone, mulling over everything I'd just eavesdropped. Tohma had said little to nothing that offered any real insight on his attitude towards me, except on a superficial level, but his reaction to Yuki Eiri and Shuichi running off together…I caught myself smiling at that. It instilled in me the smallest hope, a hope I hadn't seriously allowed myself until that point.

Suddenly, I heard a light shuffling noise and looked up to see Tohma, standing in the doorway. He was wearing his pressure garment, but still held his arm against himself as dropping it to his side might hurt him further. His hair was combed and he was fully dressed, down to the collared shirt. He almost looked like he was going out, but I knew better. It was for the preservation of his self-image.

He hadn't said anything, just appeared. The way he was looking at me was… odd. Uncertain. "Tohma? Is something wrong?" I asked. As if I weren't keeping close tabs on his private conversations.

He looked aside for a moment, then came forward a few steps. "K-san," he began, "I hope you're not staying here because you feel you have to."

Every muscle in my body tensed; every nerve went on hyper-alert. I hadn't expected anything of that nature. If we were about to have a serious discussion of the many things keeping me hanging around this giant mansion of his, I would have preferred some time to prepare. But here he was, standing five feet away from me and waiting for a response. "Of course I'm not," I said, shaking my head.

"Because I know you've got a home of your own, and you've been here for… well, for quite some time now." He hadn't made eye contact with me yet.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this a hint?" I said.

"No," he said quickly. "I just don't want you to be inconvenienced because you feel obligated."

"Tohma, look at me," I said. "No, actually, first sit down. You're making me nervous."

He sat across from me.

"Alright, _now_ look at me. I know I don't have to be here. I see you around the house; I know your left hand is getting better." I took a breath. "But I also know you're still hurting. And that's why I'm still here. I'll stay as long as you want me." God, if he only knew how serious I was when I said that.

Tohma looked at me for the first time, and for a moment I thought maybe he did know. When he spoke, there was no pretentiousness in his voice, no carefully controlled inflections or veils to shroud his real meaning. "Alright then," he said after a moment's consideration. "I want you here."

And my insides turned to jelly. He said it straightforwardly enough. Earnestly, but a bit like, 'there's my response, now carry on.' But there was no going about my day when Tohma had just openly admitted to my face that he felt more than apathy towards my presence in his home. If that was pathetic, I didn't care. The trick now was to play it off, to say something compassionate but light-hearted, and-

"Do you still love him?"

Fuck.

Tohma's eyes snapped to mine, and he looked highly disturbed. I _felt_ highly disturbed, and somewhat sick to my stomach. Where had that come from?

"Wh- who?" he asked.

I took a breath and steeled myself. There's not exactly a smooth way to back out of a question like that. "Yuki Eiri."

I couldn't read Tohma's expression, but for once it wasn't because he was hiding.

"No."

One word.

It wasn't just the "no" itself. It was Tohma _saying_ no. It was the complete lack of defiance, of falsehood or self-defense in that one syllable.

Tohma was telling the truth.

Of course, that's the thing about heart-to-hearts. When they're going your way, you want to prolong them. I wanted to keep going, to ask more questions. Since when did he not love him? Why? What had changed, and for the love of all things holy, was there the slightest chance I had something, anything at all to do with it?

But that was out of bounds, and even I knew it. It wasn't my business, and I couldn't possibly-

"What happened?"

_Fuck. _Goddamn it.

Tohma was shocked at my forwardness. I didn't blame him; I was too. He looked uncomfortable, like he'd rather not be there anymore. "What do you mean 'what happened?'" he said. "_Things_ happened. Mika left to have a child, and my hand was completely roasted, and you moved in, an-"

Tohma clamped his mouth shut. I tried not to let my expression change, but something told me that hadn't come out the way he'd expected. "I mean, you…" But his voice trailed off again, as if he didn't have anywhere to take his thought. I should have helped him out, but I didn't. The silence spoke for itself as Tohma stood up without another word, put a hand to his forehead, and left the room. I let him go.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Ah, there it is. Hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint anyone too much, but I can't really apologize for it. I realized I've been keeping Tohma and K in a little bubble, as if Tohma didn't have any other relationships in the world to consider. So Yuki and Ryuichi became methods through which I tried to make K and Tohma's forthcoming relationship as realistic as possible. (Hence why their characterizations are two-dimensional. They only get maybe 1.5 scenes each.) I also realize Yuki was more conversational than usual. The subject of K wouldn't have come up at all otherwise, and then I'd have wasted half a chapter. Picture manga Yuki if it helps. This chapter was also necessary because I realized it'd be unrealistic to have Tohma be oblivious to K, apathetic to K, oblivious, apathetic, oblivious, POW! in bed. 

Also, sorry for Tohma's mild dig at Germany. The opinions expressed by the characters of this story do not represent the viewpoints of its author. Except for K's, whenever he's musing about how hot it would be to get Tohma in bed... Okay, so that hasn't explicitly happened. Yet.

Thanks for reading! This has been a hectic and difficult week, so I'm kind of proud that I managed to pump this out. Please review.


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** Help Elsewhere

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating**: T for language

**Summary:** Tohma's instrument is one of his few joys in life. K stumbles into a closer relationship with Tohma and when an accident renders the keyboardist unable to play, K is there.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**Author's Notes: **The last chapter! I hope you enjoy it, and I realize it took longer than usual for me to churn it out. I had to wait until some school junk died down.

* * *

Tohma had been quick enough to ask me to stay at his home with him, but he still had this infuriating way of moving around the house- just out of the shower, talking on the phone, looking for paperwork that was never lost for good- as if he were the only person living there. He could be hunting all over for that morning's newspaper, standing in the center of the carpet and scanning over room after room, and it would never once occur to him to ask me if I'd seen it. By one point, I was convinced I could drape myself in velvet and sprawl across his bed, and he wouldn't have responded with more than a threat to dock my pay at NG.

He'd condescend to my conversation often enough, but it was hit or miss whether or not he'd talk to me about anything without that absurd propriety he upheld sometimes. One day I came home from work to find him bent forward at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, agonizing almost feverishly over a sheet of music, as if he'd forget how to read it if he didn't study while his hand was still useless. He was in his more casual attire, slightly wrinkled khaki slacks and a white shirt that apparently had a few more buttons than Tohma could be bothered with, and no undershirt. I tried not to be distracted by it, because in addition to the outfit making him look utterly fuckable, that's also how I knew he'd had a bad day. Usually he kept himself particularly well-dressed to preserve his own self-image, but occasionally when his misery got the best of him, he just couldn't be bothered.

Even still, when I came home from work and asked him if everything was alright, he straightened himself, lied through his teeth that he was 'fine,' and proceeded with an onslaught of inquiries and plans about NG. I rolled my eyes, hung up my jacket, and let him finish whatever he had to say. The sooner Tohma got work out of his system, the sooner we could tend to real life.

"I'm thinking about going back to the studio tomorrow," he said, moving from the dining area to where I stood. His feet were bare, and made lighter sounds than mine against the hardwood floor.

"Good," I said, opening the refrigerator for a soda. Ryuichi had made Tohma promise to mount his artwork on the door, and the paper flapped to the floor, slipping half-way beneath the refrigerator when I opened it. Tohma immediately went to retrieve it, and his shirt rode up in the back a half-inch as he squatted to the floor. A pale crescent of skin peeked out from under the material, and I changed my mind about the soda. Alcohol was in order, even if it meant settling for the soft stuff Tohma had.

Tohma sat at the table and watched me struggle with the cork in a bottle from his collection. The more expensive that stuff is, the harder it is to get into, and Tohma would never defile his stock with anything but the best. "Fucking… ngh… Chateau…" Good old hobo wine never made you work so hard. Finally I resorted to biting at the cork and trying to pull it out. Tohma grimaced and looked at me like I was a savage, before standing up and retrieving something from a drawer.

"Hold it still," he ordered, and I was forced to hold the bottle as Tohma clumsily removed the cork using his left hand. "They wouldn't have invented corkscrews if you were supposed to gnaw at it like an animal," he sniffed.

I considered chugging the whole bottle right in front of his face, but opted for sobriety. Besides, the glassware I had at home was minimal and mediocre at best, so I secretly enjoyed helping myself to Tohma's crystal. I set down two glasses on the table, self-conscious now about if I was pouring it in a civilized enough way for him. "So, work," I said, seating myself across from him. "Can you write?"

He pulled his glass towards him. I half expected him to twirl it – I could picture it, him looking like some pompous connoisseur- but he didn't. "With my left hand," he answered.

"I thought you were right-handed," I said, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well, I guess I'm not anymore, am I, K-san?"

There was no arguing with that. My eyes drifted down to the music he'd been looking at when I came in. "What's that?" I asked.

He looked alarmed as I picked it up. "Nothing," he said quickly, making a grab for it. I held it out of his reach.

"Did you write this?" I asked. Tohma didn't answer, and I inspected it more closely. _De Modo Inesperado,_ the title read. Whatever that meant. "Will you play it?" I said, handing it back to him.

"I can't," he mumbled, pulling the page back towards him protectively.

"Did you try?" I asked. "If you'd only tr-"

My words were silenced by a single look from him. "Yes, I've tried," he said, before sliding the page back towards me. "See this?" he said, tracing a long finger over the top line of notes. There were a lot of them. "This line, and this one, and this… this entire melody is impossible for me right now." Tohma closed his eyes tightly. "I can hear it," he said, raising his hand to the side of his temple. "And it sounds good. In my head, it sounds perfect." He opened his eyes, letting them fall to his right hand as if it were almost dead and gone. "But I can't play it."

I hoped Tohma couldn't see any traces of pity in my eyes. Over a month under Tohma's roof had taught me that sometimes Tohma wanted to be heard, even understood, but never pitied. I couldn't help it, though, and the second Tohma looked up and saw my expression, he dropped the subject.

"I can write, though," he said quickly. "Quite legibly."

I cleared my throat. "Good. And everyone should be glad you're coming back to the office." That wasn't entirely true, and we both knew it. Tohma inspired fear into the hearts of most of his employees. But things would run more smoothly, no doubt about that. "Sakano in particular, I think, will be glad to see you."

Tohma snorted. "I'm sure he will," he said, and I smiled. "But don't get his hopes up until later. I can only stay for a couple hours tomorrow. I've got an appointment with my doctor."

"Which doctor?"

"The one you met last week."

Great. Old Sleazeball McFeely himself. "I don't trust him."

Tohma shrugged. "You don't have to, but his credentials are spotless and he clearly knows what he's doing. That's good enough for me. All I care about is getting better. And besides, if he were some sort of fraud, he wouldn't have been recommended in the first place, and it's not like I haven't checked his background."

I wanted to tell him it wasn't his ability as a specialist that concerned me. The man came across to me as nothing more than a subtle lech, but that was just my prejudiced opinion. So all I said was, "do you want me to drive you?"

"That's alright, K-san. I can manage."

"With one hand?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "I'm getting used to it."

He left, and I sat at the table. Despite Tohma's expressed desire to keep me around, I was selfishly nervous about him adapting to only having one hand to use. If Tohma could write with one hand, drive with one hand… the way things were going, excuses for me to hang around were going to run out sooner rather than later.

And I couldn't just go home. Not now. I couldn't just leave, and resume my role as Tohma's company underling as if the last two months hadn't happened. They _had_ happened. No, I decided. I wasn't leaving him, even if it came to me telling him outright why not.

* * *

The next day, I got home from work before Tohma returned from the appointment he didn't need me to drive him to. I lounged around being useless for a while until I heard his car door shut outside. As soon as I heard Tohma's key moving about in the lock of the front door, I was in the entrance hallway. The door swung open and Tohma entered silently.

"Hey," I said, helping him out of his jacket. "How'd it go?"

I wasn't sure if Tohma had heard me. He didn't say a word. His expression was odd- pointed and troubled, and it was alarming. "Tohma?"

"Yes?"

"I asked you how it went today. What did he say?"

Tohma ran a hand through his hair and looked lost for a moment. "Nothing," he said finally, and started to head deeper into the house.

I grabbed his arm, nearly jerking him back in front of me. He yelped, but I kept my grip, forcing him to face me. "What do you mean, 'nothing?'" I hissed, glancing up at the wall clock visible from the kitchen. "You were there for over an hour. What the fuck happened?"

Tohma pulled at my hold. "Let go of me," he said, and I did. He seemed torn between throwing me out and retreating to his room. He looked small- distressed and unsteady. His clothes were more disheveled than he usually allowed, and his face had lost all traces of whatever healthy complexion he'd gotten back since the accident.

Tohma was too proud to look that way over "nothing."

"Tohma," I said more softly. "Did he touch you?"

He stiffened. "That's none of your business."

"Like hell it's not. Answer me."

Tohma tensed as I advanced towards him. "It was nothing I couldn't handle," he insisted, taking a step back. That's how I really knew. Tohma wasn't in the habit of backing away from people; he'd been unnerved.

I gritted my teeth. "I'll kill him," I said.

As usual, Tohma wouldn't look me in the eyes whenever he was upset, and he was only almost in control of his voice. "Calm down, K-san," he said. "It may have escaped your notice in the last two months, but I'm not a child. Mr. Lawson has already been dealt with. Thoroughly."

My hand flew to my mouth. I'd forgotten Tohma's tendency to dispense swift and severe punishment. "You didn't…"

He scowled at me. "Of course not." Like the suggestion was really so absurd. "If you recall, the only reason I'm in this situation at all is because I pushed a man into traffic. I'm not about to try it _again_, K-san." He started to shuffle out into the main hallway, but my voice stopped him as he reached the doorway.

"Tohma, you're shaking."

He stopped. "I'm not," he said quietly.

As if I couldn't see him plain as day. "Why are you?" I said.

He didn't answer at first. "I just…" His voice was so quiet, I had to move closer just to understand him. He leaned his shoulder against the side panel of the doorway, still facing away from me. "I just thought I thought I had a chance, K-san. I thought I'd found help, and for two weeks, I believed I was actually going to get better."

I watched, harrowed, as he brought his good hand to face and let himself slide down the wall, as if it weren't worth the effort of standing anymore. "And now I don't know," he said.

I sat across from him, on the cold floor. "Don't worry about him," I said, trying to sound as optimistic as possible. "We'll find someone else. Someone not American," I added, offering him a smile.

He didn't see. He might not have even been listening. Tohma leaned his head back so it rested against the wall, and blinked up at his high ceiling. His words were slow. "I just don't understand why _me_," he said finally. "Why everything that could go wrong has, and why now. All at once."

Tohma looked at me as if searching for validation. "I mean, I can't deserve _all_ of this, right, K-san?" he said. "I've- I suppose I've done a _few_ things maybe I shouldn't have, but this has got to be enough. It shouldn't get any worse, right?"

His voice came ever so close to cracking, and I moved beside him, shoulder to shoulder. My instinct was to drop my arm around him, but I couldn't tell if he wanted to be touched or not. "Hey," I said. "Who said anything about you deserving this shit? Aiwawa-san was a nutter. Mika was bad timing." Damned if I was about to mention Yuki Eiri. "And this guy Lawson is just a worthless perv. None of it's your fault. We'll find someone who's not and start over."

Tohma groaned and rested the side of his head on my shoulder. I took care not to tense up; he might feel it. "Start over…" he echoed hollowly. "I guess that's not so bad. I'm getting used to not playing, and it's easier when I think it's too far away to even try."

He fell silent, closing his eyes against the material of my shirt. I looked at him pityingly for a moment. Then slowly, hesitatingly I raised a hand over to him. I couldn't help myself; there, seated on the hallway floor, I lightly trailed my fingers over his blond hair. It was soft, and he didn't flinch away.

"You'll be alright," I said gently, and I meant it. And not just in a few years either, after taxing therapy. Tohma needed help, now, from me. I'd figure out how to give it to him. If he wanted to play, I'd make sure he played. The way anyone else would guard a lifeline, Tohma carefully guarded his love for music, a love only matched by what I was secretly beginning to feel for Tohma himself. Between two forces that strong, I felt able to take on the whole world if need be. I only had to convince him.

* * *

Tohma slept for a long time that night. Too long, I thought, when one o'clock rolled around the next afternoon, and I began to worry. I'd been up all night long working things out in my head, and when I had them figured out I even ran an errand and got back before Tohma so much as rolled over once in his bed. I opened the door to his room quietly, with a brown folder in my hand, and saw him lying on his side, in the exact position he'd collapsed last night. It was worrisome. I decided if he had a migraine I'd let him alone, but otherwise it would set my mind more at ease to see him up and about. Besides, I needed to talk to him.

I sat on the side of the bed, leaned over him, and shook his shoulder gently, careful not to hurt him. "Tohma?"

"Mm?"

"Tohma."

His eye lids cracked open, slowly. "What?" he mumbled, tightening the cover around him and cozying into his pillow as if I weren't there. I smiled. An American author once said that we're most human when we first wake, when the traces of sleep are still heavy across our features, and when I looked at Tohma I saw that he was right.

"You need to get up," I said, loudly. "I was getting worried."

Tohma moaned lightly and sat up. "Of course you were," he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes, but he didn't look all that irritated to me. "Did you want something?"

I took a breath. "I found something I thought you might be interested in," I said, producing the folder from my jacket. Tohma cocked his head in a silent question, squinting slightly in the afternoon light. I pulled out the pages I'd found, ones I'd stayed up all night searching through databases and address books to find. I handed them to him.

It was a set of music pieces, written specifically for the left hand. A couple of phone calls and a bunch of money had gotten me what I was told to be some of the best pieces by the most accomplished composers in the genre. Dumas, Scriabin, Brahms… None of them meant much to me, but if they meant anything at all to Tohma, that was good enough.

Something told me I'd done something right when Tohma's eyes fell over the pages. "K," he breathed, running a hand over the pages. The one on top read _Solfeggietto in C minor_, and Tohma's brow furrowed as he scanned over the top line of music. When he looked to me, his gaze held an almost piercing quality I'd never seen before. "Where did you find these?"

I shrugged. "Around," I said. "I thought… I mean, I know you're going to be working hard to play with both hands and everything, and I'm sure it won't take that long." Lie, but I couldn't help it. "But I thought until then… Maybe this will be better than nothing?"

I stopped. There it was- a look that cut me off faster than any words could. It was his eyes, a smile, a singular expression on his face that I would have been prepared to give anything to see directed at me. He leaned forward slightly and for a moment I thought he was going to touch me, but then he stilled, and his hands dropped to his lap over the sheets. "Thank you," he said.

I nodded; a response didn't seem necessary. By this point, we both knew he was more than welcome. "Only thing is," I said, "you've got to actually try them. And I want to hear."

Tohma held up one piece to the light, furrowing his brow slightly as he sight-read it to himself. Then he picked up another, and another, until four or five pieces lay scattered about the covers over his lap and next to him on the bed. He read the solfeggietto last, humming through it once, closing his eyes, and singing the first line again.

"How do you do that?" I asked.

He glanced up. "Do what?"

"That," I said, gesturing at the music. "Without playing it."

He gathered it together, keeping the last piece on top. "Practice," he said, standing, still surveying the music. "It's true when they say music is a language, K-san, and all you need to know is the vocabulary. The solfege itself began as a sight-reading exercise, based on the text to a Latin hymn. This piece here," he said, holding it up, "is an expansion of the diatonic scale in western classical music."

His words sped up as he scanned over the notes, me still watching him from the edge of his bed. "But in minor, it doesn't follow the do-re-mi pattern we're used to. You'd learn to sing it… 'do, re, _meh_, fa, so, _leh_, _teh_, do,' and look, K-san, it's all here." He sat next to me, excitedly pointing to several measures. "Do you see?"

I certainly did not. I was far too busy marveling at the change in Tohma's countenance. The sight of Tohma's eyes lighting up with something other than medication or tears was an image I wanted to commit to memory, and his voice had taken on a liveliness I didn't know Tohma felt, even for a subject as riveting as classical music theory. I glanced down at the paper in his hand, which almost trembled in his excited hold. "No," I admitted. "I can't tell anything about it, just by looking."

Tohma considered this, and made a sound of assent. "Of course you're right, K-san. That's not even half of it." He stood up abruptly, heisting me up by my forearm with him.

I followed Tohma into his instrument room, where I hadn't seen him step foot for the better part of a month. The light had been off for weeks, and the piano seemed dulled every time I passed by. Now, Tohma turned on the light and the illumination reflected off the gold engraving on the front of the instrument, the name _Fazioli_ indented into the smooth whiteness, brightened by the lighting.

Tohma grimaced slightly as he hefted up the piano's lid with his left hand and sat at the bench, scooting over to the far right side. I sat next to him. He straightened the sheet of paper on the stand and peered at it for a moment before positioning his hands over the keys. Then he caught himself, dropped his right hand to his lap, and played. I realized I was holding my breath.

The first sound was soft, but clear. He started with the pedal but abandoned it, scooting forward on the seat as he looked from the music to his hand and back again. Then another note, and another until finally, with a quick intake of breath he played in earnest, his recovering hand gliding over the keys like it hadn't since his accident.

He was concentrating hard, careful of accompaniment and melody, of chords and movement. It was a difficult piece; I wondered if Suguru could have played it with both hands. More than once Tohma would move to take over the ascending runs with his right fingers, only to emit a small sound from his throat and draw his hand back to his chest. When his left hand stumbled over a fingering, he paused a moment, repeated the measure, and continued. After focusing on one particularly tricky segment, he repeated the sequence several times, mouthing something to himself. He reached towards his ear, where he used to keep a pencil perched for writing, only to realize he didn't have one there. Tohma let out a small sound of frustration, and began looking around for something to write with.

"I need…Where's my pen?" he said to himself, and closed his eyes and repeated the fingering. "Five, four, two, three, four, one… Get up, K-san!"

He opened the bench seat and found what he was looking for. Then he hastily recorded the numbers on the sheet I'd given him with his choppy right-handed lettering before his left hand was at it again. I stayed standing to give him some room, figuring it was a musician thing. Or maybe a Tohma thing, or both. Whatever it was, I was thrilled to see it. When Tohma was finished, the last note sounded out with twice as much strength and surety as the first one had, and Tohma smiled at me from his seat.

I gave him a grin back and clapped twice. Hell, he _deserved_ applause, for more than just his musical ability. "It sounded good," I said.

"Did you hear it?" he asked. "How it kept coming back to that minor sequence, even when it deviated from the scale itself?"

I paused. "Uhh…no. No, I didn't."

He sighed. "I even emphasized them for you, K-san. And it wasn't easy, listen again. Come here."

I sat down next to him again, and when he scooted forward to the pedal his leg touched mine. I was consciously aware of it - two layers of clothes between us - though I kept my eyes on the music.

"Now, listen again," he said, pointing to the segment he'd worked out. "Do, re, le, so, do…." He sang along with the top note of the measures, hitting each key loudly as if the dynamics were the only thing keeping me from knowing what the hell he was talking about. I had to smile at him, dropping the pretense of studying the Solfeggietto with him. His notion that he could teach me the first thing about this piece was amusing and, I admitted as I watched him play, endearing.

It was his profile I could see from my seat next to him. His blue eyes- blue? Aquamarine? - still held that physical fatigue in them that I knew would take months to wipe away, but more than this, they were _happy_. That's all there was to it. Tohma was alive again, and I could see it. His soft features weren't drawn in pain or misery or anything else I couldn't touch. His mind wasn't on broken relationships, or disappointment, or any recent traumas. It was on the instrument at his fingertips, the way it should be.

"-this time?"

I shook my head. "What?"

"Did you hear it this time?" he was asking me.

I shrugged. "I guess so."

Tohma gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're not listening hard enough. You've got to be able to at least hear it, if I can sing it _and_ play it for you…"

Suddenly his voice trailed off, and his gaze drifted away from mine. And he gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh.

"I can play it," he echoed, holding his left hand in front of him. That's all he said. He faced me, and when I felt as much as I saw his watering eyes meet mine, that's all he needed to say.

His hands weren't useless; they never had been. All he needed was time, and time had passed already. Of course he could play, and I was happy for him. My eyes were locked on his, too, six inches away. He looked as if he scarcely knew what to say or do, but something was there; I could see it, and it was more than just gratitude. Tohma was trembling.

Enough, I decided. I'd been hesitating, second-guessing for a long time, and I wanted him. Since that day, months ago, when I'd happened to stumble into his office while he was ill, I'd come to the astounding- but not so astounding- realization that Tohma was the kind of attractive that I was attracted to. On the inside and out, and I wanted both.

Slowly, I lifted a hand to the side of his face. I was vaguely aware that his breathing had become more ragged and nervous. When I threaded my fingers through his hair, his eyes fluttered closed.

"I'm about to kiss you," I warned him.

"I know that, K-san."

Cupping my other hand behind his head, I leaned towards him and pressed my lips into his. And he let me. It started out chaste; then Tohma drew back and searched my eyes for a moment before leaning towards me again. It was at that precise moment that I could tell – if I wanted a relationship with this man, and I sure as hell did, I could have it. I'd finally earned him. Tohma's lips were soft and pliant, and I knew immediately why I'd been so sure he was worth the wait. Because for all his vanity and masks and stubborn pride, he was also exactly as he should be. He was strong, and sweet, and when I slipped my tongue past his lips over his, I felt it welcomed there.

I also felt my erection growing. Of course, I'd known it was coming since the moment I sat down next to him, but now it was becoming painful. Tohma shuddered when I trailed the palm of one hand idly down the front material of his shirt, and for the first time ever I seriously considered throwing him over the lid of his own instrument and engaging in a massive session of piano sex. I decided against it, though; Tohma wasn't that far gone and besides, I wasn't going to jeopardize the trust it'd taken him so long to develop in me. Not to mention the fact that dollar for dollar, my life probably wasn't worth what it would cost to fix the instrument if anything happened to it.

So I settled for gripping Tohma by the arms, one more carefully than the other, maneuvering him around the bench, and backing him against a wall. I pushed his back into it harder than I'd meant to, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. Now that I was squared off to him directly, I could kiss him in earnest. He was shorter than me, and I expected him to object to being manhandled in such a fashion, but apparently he had more pressing things on his mind.

Tohma groaned audibly as I began to explore his mouth liberally and pressed my groin flat against the front of his pajama pants. The tent in the loose material betrayed him to me, and I was ready to take advantage of it. "Lift up your arms," I ordered, and he obeyed. I allowed myself a second to savor the moment as I raised his shirt over his head and threw it inside-out onto the floor. Not many people got to tell Seguchi Tohma what to do and have him acquiesce with that charged, fiery look in his eyes.

"Jesus, Tohma," I said. It came out low as I admired his chest heaving under my gaze. The healing color, the mending scars… it was all beautiful, and so effectively _Tohma_ in my eyes, after living with him through his trauma.

I lowered my mouth over one of his darkened, pebbled nipples and exhaled slowly over it. He made a shaky, vocal noise and clutched at my hair with his right hand, several of his fingers refusing to curl into a strong grip. "Ahh… K-sa-"

I abandoned the spot and captured his mouth in mine before he could finish the infernal suffix. "Shh," I said, moving over to the nape of his neck. He moaned and turned his head to the side, allowing me easier access to the sensitive area. By the time I made my way back down to his hard nipple, he was actually whimpering, unconsciously rocking his groin back and forth. Further gone now. I rolled my tongue over his nipple softly, before nipping it slightly with my teeth.

"_Fuck_, K!" he breathed, his arm bent over his head against the wall. I smiled against his cool skin. That was more like it, and I was inclined to take the expletive more as an imperative. But suddenly a halting thought hit me.

Fuck. Tohma's eyes were half-lidded and glazed, nearly senseless with lust and the only reason he was still upright was because I had him pressed against the wall. It felt good, felt right, and almost every part of my screamed to go down on him.

There was that one small part of me left, and it told me to think, damn it. _Then what_? it said. What will it look like? What will he think?

With every ounce of self-restraint I possessed, I forced myself to back off. Tohma let out an audible protest and for a few moments we stood heaving, looking at each other.

"Tohma…" I said, unsure of what to do with my hands now that they were off him. "This isn't what I want."

His jaw nearly dropped. His erection still showed, and even more color rose to the flush across his cheeks. "It… it's not?"

I shook my head, forcing myself to look at his face and not the body beneath it. "No. Not entirely. Shit, Tohma." I ran a hand through my hair, calming myself down. "I don't want you to think that I've been hanging around just because, you know. Just because I wanted in your pants."

He swallowed. "Why have you, then?"

I looked in his eyes. They knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it. "Because I can't leave," I said.

Tohma nodded. Drawing me back forward to him, he rested his head against my shoulder, his forehead against the crook of my neck. "I know," he said at last. "I knew before. So you'll stay with me, and that's settled."

He smiled, closing his eyes.

I could feel him breathing.

_The End._

* * *

**Author's Notes**:

Wow. Finished? Done? What a strange concept… this story has been going on for months now, so it's really weird for it to be over. Now that you've made it this far, I hope you'll humor me by reading a couple notes:

1.) If you know or can guess the American author to which I referred, you get a giant gold star and a permanent spot on my cool list.

2.) So, the origin of this story. (Well, apart from me loving Tohma and feeling sad that he got totally ripped off at the end of the anime.) Basically, I recently had a sports injury that kept me from playing music for what felt like for…e…verrrrr. It really can drive you crazy! At first I was afraid of over-doing the angst, but as the story went on I remembered just how frustrating it truly is. That's also why I thought the left-handed music at the end wasn't a cop-out, and I hope you agree. I believe that genre is a life-saver for all sorts of piano players who suffer from all sorts of tragedies.

Another plot note for this chapter… I hope everyone's okay with the very last scene. I didn't want to throw them immediately in bed because then it would seem like K was just… gathering his reward. But on the other side, I didn't want a cheesy full-scale profession of love because that would be OOC x5000. And I'm already pushing OOC x4999. ;-)

3.) A lot of time went into this ridiculous thing, so I hope you review. Even if it's just to say "I have no opinion but I, Reader, have read your story." I'm also looking for suggestions for a new Tohma fic… perhaps a one- or two-shot this time around, just to switch things up. Anyway, thanks for reading!

- Proverbial Pumpkin


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